The Lady and the Tramp
by Brunette
Summary: Sequel to TRAMPS AND THIEVES. And finally complete!
1. Debts Paid

_Author's Note: So I took this down quite a while ago, and I've decided to put it up again, with a different direction in mind. Let me know what you think!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own the characters from the 1999 and 2001 films, The Mummy and The Mummy Returns. Gretchen Fagan and Ghazi are my own creations. _

* * *

**THE LADY AND THE TRAMP**

* * *

"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, bring her into the wilderness and speak kindly to her."  
_Hosea 2:14  
__

* * *

_

-

-

-

**Debts Paid**

_"Today is gonna be the day  
That they're gonna throw it back to you..."_

Gretchen rolled over in bed, gasping sharply. Her eyes snapped open, and she realized she was staring up at a tin ceiling, each panel shaped with (most likely expensive) care. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment as she rolled over to her side, glancing at an antique dresser. Her eyes darted about the room, each luxurious piece of furniture becoming a little more familiar. She pulled herself to a seat with a moan; her head pulsed with pain, but she was much too impatient with her present balance of confusion and vague memory to wait out a hangover.

A strange, grunting noise caught her attention, and she turned to look at the other side of the bed. A pair of feet were propped up on the pillow. Gretchen pressed her lips together and leaned towards the foot of the bed. Lifting the wrinkled comforter revealed Jonathan's deeply sleeping face. She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes; now everything was coming back.

The previous evening, they had made it back to Cairo. They were dirty and it was getting late, so the Carnahans had offered their baths and guest rooms to Gretchen and O'Connell. She remembered Evelyn's face flushing when Jonathan had bluntly informed her that there would be no need to "hole Gretchen up in that dusty old closet." She remembered a long, groggy soak in the tub, interrupted much sooner than she would have liked by Jonathan and a bottle of champagne. From there on, things seemed to get a little hazy...but judging from the disheveled state of the bed, she could guess that the two of them had not gone right to sleep.

Gretchen glanced at the floor, noticing a familiar-looking silk robe. She picked it up, running her fingers over the the faded embroidery. _"It was my mother's,"_ Jonathan had said, his words slurring a little, _"so I do hope you'll do me a favor and take it off as soon as possible. It's just...rather peculiar to me--seducing a woman in my mother's robe..."_ She glanced at him again as she slipped it on, wishing she could remember what became of her clothes--

Wait. Those were Evelyn's clothes. She had borrowed them at the fort, after they returned from Hamunaptra the first time. Gretchen glanced at the ceiling in irritation; so she had, _literally,_ nothing to wear--and what was worse, she would have to find Evelyn and ask to borrow clothes before she could sneak out of here. Pulling herself to her feet, Gretchen crept to the door. Her hand was on the doorknob as she glanced cautiously about the room, her gaze landing on Jonathan's dresser. She ran her tongue over her lips thoughtfully. Jonathan wasn't a terribly big man...

Gretchen tiptoed to the dresser, gently tugging the first drawer open. She sifted through the mess of wrinkled shirts, managing to pull out one that seemed smaller than the rest. She held it up with a slight frown; it was obviously a man's shirt, which meant she'd look ridiculous in it, but...well, at least she wouldn't be searching the house for Evelyn in her mother's robe. She pulled the slick fabric from her shoulders, trading it for Jonathan's linen. It was much bigger than she had imagined; the hem almost brushed her knees, and the arms were too long. She fiddled with the awkward piece of clothing, cuffing the sleeves and folding the collar. She eventually sighed in defeat, moving to the next drawer.

She didn't have much hope for finding pants that would fit her, but she rifled through Jonathan's wardrobe, anyway. After trying a few different pairs without any success of keeping them on her hips, Gretchen decided that the shirt would suffice until she could borrow women's clothes. She left the room as quietly as she could, tiptoeing down the hallway until she came to the staircase. She walked down the stairs with less attention to noise; she concentrated more on remembering the arrangement of the house.

Gretchen wandered through a few empty rooms, considering the idea of just shouting until someone appeared. The size of the place astounded her; Jonathan had always given the impression that he and his sister had fallen on hard times, that his estate was pathetically dwindled. The house must have been all paid up by the time their parents died--

A clock somewhere in the house chimed 9:00. Gretchen found her way to the dining room, and realized as she surveyed the gleaming table that she was hungry. She crossed the room to a small door, certain that the kitchen had to be close. She walked into the adjacent room, noticing immediately the rich aroma of coffee and the pot on the stove. A moment later, she saw O'Connell sitting on the counter, a steaming cup at his side. He looked her over curiously, but said nothing.

"Good morning."

She smiled politely. "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure." He jerked his head at the cupboard above the stove. "Cups are up there, if you want some coffee."

"I do."

Gretchen nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to get to the cupboard. She found a china cup and filled it with the hot, black liquid, taking a scalding sip because she couldn't help herself. Her eyes scanned the room, coming to rest on a crate pushed against the wall.

"What's that?"

O'Connell shrugged, raising his cup to his lips. "I don't know. It's for you, I guess."

Gretchen's brow furrowed. She set her cup down and walked over to examine it more closely. The crate was nailed shut, and an envelope with her name on it was pasted to the top. She glanced up at O'Connell, but he only returned her puzzled gaze. With a sigh, she gently pulled the envelope from the lid. She ripped it open and found a note. In neat, almost primitive letters, was written:

_Gretchen,  
These are yours (the mirror will be coming later). Your debt to me was paid.  
Ghazi_

She frowned at the note. She knew Ghazi couldn't write in English; it wouldn't surprise her if he was illiterate in his own language. Someone must have done it for him. But certainly more puzzling than the note supposedly written by her Egyptian pimp was the message being delivered. Someone had paid her debt?

"So what is it?" O'Connell's voice cut through her thoughts.

She glanced up at him and held up the note. He slid down from the counter and took the slip of paper. Gretchen knelt down to examine the crate and how well it was sealed; she could feel O'Connell's questioning gaze on the back of her neck.

"I don't get it."

Gretchen sighed, trying to get her fingernails beneath one of the nail heads. "When you're whoring, your room and board's all taken care of. You pay back a part of your earnings to the pimp for getting you customers, you know. But since he pays for you to live there--and other stuff, too. Some girls really get into drugs, or you might need an abortion or maybe you find out your mother's sick--whatever. He takes care of this stuff, and then if you ever get to leave, you got to pay up your debt."

She didn't have to look up to know O'Connell looked a little disgusted. "Sounds like a good way to con someone out of a lot of money."

Gretchen breathed a laugh. "Yeah, well, it is...usually. But I guess someone paid for me."

O'Connell nodded slowly, opening one of the drawers to find a large cutting knife. He knelt down beside her, jamming the blade into the seam.

"And it must have been someone who's pretty scary," he said, putting his weight down on the handle. The wood made a cracking noise, and the lid lifted a little from the box. "Otherwise, I think he'd try to to screw you out of more money."

She shrugged. "Mmhmm."

He gaze the knife another hard push and the lid dislodged. Gretchen looked impressed.

"Hey, thanks."

The crate was full of clothes and underwear, most of them ratty and moth-eaten. Her rouge cabinet was at the bottom, along with a few pairs of shoes. She sighed, a red, lacy slip caught between her fingers.

"I guess this solves my clothes problem," she muttered under her breath. She glanced up at O'Connell. "I wonder who did all this?" She laughed, sounding a little nervous. "I mean, who do I even know who'd want to do this for me?"


	2. Of Thieves

**Of Thieves**

Gretchen raked back her wavy strands on top of her head, wondering if that would improve her reflection any. With a bland sigh, she decided her face really wasn't the problem, anyway. These damn, ugly (probably dirty) clothes made her look on the brink of destitution. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine herself in a long, silk gown--one of those dangerously low-cut numbers she'd seen in pictures. She pictured herself in gleaming black fabric, with every other shockingly exposed inch of skin encrusted in diamonds._ With money, no one will care that you are a tramp..._

"And I am a thief," she whispered under her breath. The words in her head made her stomach turn sickeningly; she tried to blink away the image of Beni in that vast treasure room, but her mind twisted to grimmer thoughts--thoughts of him trapped and suffocating in the dark depths of the city...Taking a deep breath, she surveyed herself again in the mirror, pushing away the memory of that greasy smile. She focused on her clothes again, and let out a defeated sigh. The moth-eaten holes in her skirt made her frown, and the weary cotton of her blouse was suspiciously itchy.

She glanced at Jonathan's linen shirt crumpled on the floor. Despite a serious temptation to remain in that--at least for the morning--Gretchen resolved to wear her suggestive rags and left the bathroom. She returned to the kitchen to find Jonathan slumped at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes and mumbled something that resembled "good morning."

Her brow furrowed a little as she glanced about the room. "Where's O'Connell?"

Jonathan's shoulders rose and fell, and he winced as if the mere action caused him excrutiating pain. "I don't know...something about...museum."

Gretchen frowned, crossing the room to the coffee pot. She refilled her cup and leaned against the counter where O'Connell had been sitting when she excused herself to dress. Taking a sip, she looked at her companion with a quizzical expression.

"Hung over?"

"Aren't you?" he scoffed with weary irritability.

She sighed. "I've had worse."

He smirked despite his alleged pains. "Love, I _doubt_ you've ever had any better."

Gretchen laughed aloud, watching him gulp down what was left of his cup. His face contorted with disgust as he swallowed, but his eyes looked livelier once he managed the hot, black liquid down his throat.

"Vile," he coughed, extending the cup in his hand. "Would you mind topping me off with a little more?"

She smiled and brought the coffee pot over to him, filling up the delicate China again. He looked down at the cup and frowned, setting it on the table.

"I suppose I just need to get my guff up to drink some more. I don't know what it is about coffee, but I always feel my insides are rotting from it. I'll never understand why you Americans are so positively infatuated with it. Really, what's wrong with tea?"

Gretchen took a sip from her cup. "Jonathan...I don't even know."

He sighed, staring into his cup bitterly. "I suppose it's just like medicine, though. No better way to cure a hangover."

She shrugged, her eyes straying to the crate again. She looked down her body and noticed the frayed edge of her skirt, again. "So how do we go about getting the money from all that treasure?"

Jonathan's eyes brightened, and his mood lifted considerably at the abrupt change of subject. "Well! Now you're talking."

"I just...I really want to get out of here, you know?"

He smiled, raising his cup. "Absolutely! We can just take off, leave this dusty little place and see the world."

She glanced down; something about the thought of travelling with him felt...permanent, and something about that was more frightening than she would have anticipated. Jonathan watched her curiously. "Assuming...I mean...You weren't intending on going alone, were you?"

Gretchen's stomach clenched, but she shook her head. She gave him a very convincing smile. "No. I wasn't."

He grinned, downing the entire cup of coffee in one gulp. He grimaced, but forced the coffee down his throat and looked up at her with watery eyes. Her unreadable expression seemed to puzzle him; he got up from his chair and took her hands in his.

"Are you alright, love?"

Gretchen chewed on her bottom lip, not quite able to look at him. "I don't...I don't know."

He reached a hand up to her face, gently asking for her gaze. "I understand, Gretchen."

She legitimately wondered what, exactly, it was he understood.

He took a breath, shaking his head gravely. "The nightmares...There's just something about this place. You know, something...dark, I suppose. I know what it is to want to forget, Gretchen."

She smiled sadly, afraid to believe in the depth of his blue eyes. He watched her with a strange kind of care, his hand slipping to the back of her neck.

"Do you want to forget?" he whispered.

Gretchen wet her lips and nodded. He pulled her into his arms and into his kiss. She indulged in his embrace, her fingers gripping his shoulders tighter. His hands strayed from her waist, down her leg. When he finally broke off the kiss to gasp for air, her skirt was already hiked up to her hip. She breathed a short, sly laugh, and he met her eyes with the urgency of passion.

"I meant what I said--in the hotel. I meant it."

Gretchen didn't have time to think back to what Jonathan had said at the hotel; he pulled her into another deep kiss, his hands on the back of her thighs. He lifted her up on the counter, pulling her body against his. Despite the rocking uneasiness in her gut, Gretchen wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Then show me," she whispered.


	3. Treasures Uncovered

_**(Important..ish) Author's Note.** It's a miracle! I'm back! Well...not really a miracle. But anyway. I had a sudden urge to continue with this story, so I'm gonna. And that's all I have to say about that. I would like to note just now something I will be editing into the previous two chapters (after skimming this and TAT): Gretchen was shot in the leg in _Tramps and Thieves._ And yet, for some reason, I glided over this fact and we haven't had a single mention of the woman limping or showing any signs of recent injury. Yeah, I know. Funny, huh? Almost as funny as the fact that nobody (myself included) noticed that little blunder. Are we really so jaded by action flicks that we just ignore such a blatant continuity error? I blame Stephen Sommers for this. In no way is this the fault of my own carelessness. _

* * *

**Treasures Uncovered**

"I feel ridiculous."

Jonathan shook his head emphatically. "No, love! You musn't say that. You look smashing."

Gretchen's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going out like this."

"Well surely you don't mean to go out in _that."_ Her eyes dropped to her ragged clothes on the floor. Jonathan pushed them distastefully with the toe of his shoe.

She sighed. "I was planning on it."

"Oh, now... Those are all sweaty and dirty from... our previous activities this morning, and you look so much fresher in this. Wouldn't you rather not look and smell like a--a...well, dare I say it, like a tramp?"

"Jonathan," she pronounced firmly. "I feel _ridiculous._ I will_ not_ wear your sister's evening gown to the museum. I _won't."_

"Well why not? It looks better on you than it does on her."

Gretchen chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking down her body. The conservative black silk dress hung awkwardly on her body; she certainly didn't have Evelyn's curves. Taking a breath, she turned an impatient glare back to Jonathan. "First off, I highly doubt that. Second off, it is eleven in the morning. And third...I don't know. It's probably outdated."

Jonathan scoffed.

She looked at him for a moment before shoving one of the straps of the gown off of her shoulder. "Give me my clothes."

Jonathan's brow furrowed, and a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes. Nonchalantly, he scooped up the rags in his arms and took a step back from her. "You mean these?"

Gretchen's eyes widened. "Jonathan--"

"These don't even look like clothes--"

"Jonathan--!"

He took a few more steps away from her...and closer to the window. "These just look like cleaning rags to me... Here, let's get a better look at them in the light..."

_"Jonathan!"_ Gretchen lunged at him, letting out a pained whimper, but her assault was in vain; he had already dumped them over the windowsill. Her hands curled into fists. "You jackass!"

His eyes feigned innocence. "Who? You mean me? Gretchen!"

Her fist collided hard against his arm. "Those were the best I had!"

"Well then we'd best dump the whole crate out the window. Would you be a dear and go and get it for me?"

Gretchen hit him again. "Go down there and get my clothes! I need something to wear--"

But Jonathan just smiled triumphantly. "Love, you're already wearing something."

Sucking in her breath, Gretchen thought very seriously about sending him a swift kick between the legs... but the pain in her thigh cried out against it. Glancing wistfully out the window, the unchangeable reality of the situation began to sink in. She decided to take this present defeat with grace and limped proudly and irritably towards the door. "I hate you."

"You'll thank me later."

She didn't even glance over her shoulder. "Get your goddamn car."

He grinned. "Now we're talking! You just wait right here, love!"

Gretchen refused to say a word to him as he helped her into the car and drove to the museum. Much to her annoyance, her silence did nothing to dampen his suddenly chipper demeanor. She supposed the promised millions waiting at the museum had something to do with that--and his minor victory with the evening gown had probably increased his amusement all the more. She huffed a sigh when he opened the door for her and offered his arm; her eyes were narrowed more because of the brightness of the sun, but she hoped that her expression incited some guilt. He smiled and patted her arm and whistled in a way that told her it didn't.

He virtually skipped through the empty marble halls, his voicing bounding all around them like an excited child. Gretchen rolled her eyes and struggled to keep up with him. He swung eagerly around a corner and through a doorway; Gretchen was just grateful to see an open chair amidst the scattered artifacts and notepads.

Evelyn was sprawled on the floor, a pen poised in her hand. She barely glanced up at them through her glasses before returning her full attention to a worn inscription on the back of a statuette. Rick sat on a desk, toying half-heartedly with a scepter. He looked grateful for their intrusion. Gretchen met O'Connell's eyes quizzically and took a seat.

"So what do you think, Evy--half a million or the whole cigar?" Jonathan asked, crouching next to her.

She managed a distracted, "It's much too early to tell."

"Well," he pressed, rubbing his hands together. "When will we be able to...tell?"

Breathing a sigh, she looked up at him pointedly. "It will be months before I'll be able to catalogue all of this--"

"But Evy--"

"Isn't there some way to get the money out of this?" Gretchen said. She could feel Rick's eyes on her face.

Evelyn's jaw tightened. "That's not what's important about all of this--" She stopped, looking Gretchen over. "Why are you wearing that?"

Gretchen shot a pointed look at Jonathan. "Don't ask."

But his mind was concentrated on other matters.

"We could sell it to one of the British museums," Jonathan said. "Hell, even an American one."

She set her eyes on him again. "For what, Jonathan? For how much? What is it worth?"

Jonathan's mouth gaped silently. Rick glanced at Gretchen, and then started quietly, "There's the dollar amount per pound..."

Evelyn's gaze flitted up to his, and something like hurt glittered behind her glasses. "But what about the information? Thousands of years worth of information is preserved in these artifacts. That's worth twice their weight."

"Then we double the price!" Jonathan concluded triumphantly.

Evelyn shook her head. "It's not that simple."

The room slipped into an awkward quiet. Gretchen, Rick and Jonathan passed around a look of defeat; Evelyn turned defiantly back to her artifact.

"Oh well for that trip," Gretchen murmured.

Rick's slouch straightened. "You guys were gonna take a trip?"

"Considering it, anyway," Jonathan muttered.

"Where?"

Jonathan threw up his hands. "Oh, anywhere! Everywhere! We need to get out of this place."

Rick nodded slowly. "I know the feeling."

Evelyn let out a loud sigh.

"I don't think there's any changing her mind," Gretchen shrugged. "We might as well get settled in here." She caught Rick's eye, and something familiar between them sparked. "I guess Cairo isn't totally without culture. I mean, it's no London or Paris or even New York, but at least it has a museum..."

Rick grinned. "Yeah, you're right. it's a good thing we don't have to travel far to see one 'a them."

Jonathan looked between them in puzzlement. "Now, don't give up hope so easily--"

"Besides," Gretchen continued, "this museum has something no other museum in the world has right now."

"That's right," Rick said. "We've got the treasures of Hamunaptra. Can't see that anywhere else... Although I bet they'd like to..."

"Who cares about the museums?" Jonathan huffed. "There's so much else to do--"

"Yeah," Gretchen sighed. "It's too bad they can't."

Rick shook his head. "Yep. Too bad..."

Evelyn took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Sitting up slowly, she looked between the scheming Americans. "I know what you're getting at."

Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest. "Well I'm glad to know _somebody_ is!"

Rick smiled at her. "C'mon, Evelyn."

She pursed her lips, looking around the glittering mess all about her. With a defeated sigh, she pulled herself to her feet. "Alright. Just give me time to write the museums. They'll never believe me... but I suppose they'll have to let us in."

Rick rested his hands on his holsters. "Oh. They'll let us in."

Gretchen giggled, and Jonathan shook his head in dismay.

"Isn't this my luck? Off we go to see the museums! What a bloody bore... Honestly, when did you two become such history buffs?"


	4. The Reflection

**The Reflection**

"Hey...whoa."

Gretchen glanced up from the morning paper to look up at Rick's surprised gaze. A strange look passed over his face, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Did you, uh...do something different?"

She snickered. "I got my hair cut."

"And...blonde, right?"

She tilted her head to the side, a platinum curl falling against her forehead. Her dark eyes glinting with amusement and disbelief. "Really? You have to ask?"

"You haven't had this all week, right?"

Now Gretchen laughed out loud. "No. Just last night."

Rick let out a sigh of relief. "Oh. I don't feel so bad, then...it looks nice."

She smiled. "Thank you. There's coffee on the stove."

He nodded, walking over to the kettle gratefully. "And what'd they say about your leg?"

His question pleasantly surprised her. "It's a flesh wound, like you said. It'll heal--it's healing already. It's just sore. I have to keep it bandaged."

Rick made an affirmative grunt, searching the cupboards for a coffee cup. "I thought it looked like a flesh wound. And you would've been in a hell of a lot more pain if it'd hit the bone. Believe me."

She smiled sympathetically at his back as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Oh, I believe you."

"So the boat leaves at...11:00, right?"

"That's what Jonathan keeps saying."

Rick snorted.

"He's such a happy little camper," she chuckled, lifting her cup to her lips. Taking a deep sip, she pushed the newspaper to the edge of the table. "They've got a nice write-up about our worldwide tour."

Coffee cup in hand, Rick crossed the room to the table as quickly as he could without spilling. Leaning over the article, he took a sip.

"It's good they did that--nice thing for Evelyn...and Jonathan, too, of course."

She nodded. "I didn't know all that about their parents. Jonathan never mentioned that his father was so...important."

Rick shrugged absent-mindedly, his gaze focused on the newsprint.

"Well, they had to get this house from somewhere," he murmured.

Gretchen took another sip of coffee. "Evelyn said she's already recieved two different offers from the London museums, wanting to be the first to feature the treasure."

Rick nodded, finishing the article. "Yeah. One in Paris offered to buy it all upfront." Her eyebrows rose. "Evelyn didn't go for it. I think that's the smarter move, though. We can make more on the tour, and after that, everybody'll get a bid in. It'd be dumb to sell it all right now."

She shrugged. Quick, heavy footsteps paced overhead. They both glanced up, and then at each other.

"Any word from the Smithsonian?" she asked with forced nonchalance.

Rick stared at her, barely nodding his head.

"Are you...you know, worried about going back to--"

He shook his head emphatically. "Nah, not nervous..."

She took a breath. "Yeah--no, me either."

"It's just America."

Gretchen laughed. "Yeah. And we're just Americans...who haven't been there in years..."

Rick shrugged his shoulders. "What are they gonna do? Throw us out?"

She laughed again, but nervously. He met her eyes, and something unspoken passed between them. His throat jerked, and he looked away.

"And, I mean, look at you--all...hair short and new clothes, no one will ever guess that--"

He stopped abruptly, his face flushing. She chewed on her lip and glanced at her nails. He cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean--I meant, no one will guess that you ever...left...for so long..."

She took another sip. "Yeah..."

He touched her shoulder, and she looked up. His gaze was bright and persistently apologetic. "I really didn't mean it that way."

Gretchen nodded and looked away.

With a sigh, he let go of her shoulder and glanced at his watch. "I'm gonna head over to the museum and check up on things. Evelyn said people are coming to load the crates at 9:30, and I want to make sure nothing gets out of control."

She forced a little smile. "Okay."

Rick shifted his weight, not quite looking at her. He threw a big gulp of coffee down his throat and sighed. "Okay. I'll see you...onboard, probably."

"Yeah."

Without another word, he strode out of the room, and the front door soon clattered shut behind him. Gretchen took a breath, trying to place the pain that was ringing in her head. She let her eyelids slip shut, and the front door opened again.

"Hey? Gretchen?"

She cleared her throat of what felt like a sob. "Yeah?"

"This came for you!"

"Okay," she called back. Gretchen waited until whatever-it-was had been pulled into the house and the door closed again. Taking another breath, she stood up wincing and walked into the drawing room. Her eyes blurred with tears; what damn awful timing.

She walked slowly, uncertainly, towards the thing just inside the doorway. Sunlight from outside slipped through the windows and bounced against her old familiar treasure, flickering against her eyes. In the dank yellow light of her room at Ghazi's, the full-length mirror had always looked somewhat tasteful. But here...in the brightness of the Carnahans' drawing room, in the morning, it looked old and cheap. The crooked frame and fingerprinted mirror seemed tired. Pasted just above her reflection was another note. Even at this distance, she could read the large letters:

_The mirror.  
~Ghazi_

As if she couldn't tell.

Running her tongue over her lips, she met her own eyes in the reflection. Her stomach twisted with disappointment. The rest of her looked good, healthy, normal. Her thin frame was perfect for the stylish drop-waist frock; between the dress and her blonde bob, she looked like a real American flapper. Her face was pretty with make-up, and her skin was clean and white. A breeze from the window caught her perfume, and she was reminded that she smelled nice and clean, that she looked nice and clean...

But goddamn it, if it weren't for her eyes! Their dirty-colored depths looked empty and desperate, like they always had. She had street eyes, whore eyes. Who was she fooling? She was the same, the very same--maybe she was dressed up like a lady, but she was still...Her gaze was just the same, just the same as that night, so long ago...

Gretchen closed her eyes, and her bony, naked reflection flashed in her mind. She'd looked cheap and used, the rag-doll remains of a person...and Beni Gabor had been in her bed.

_God._

She forced her eyes opened, taking in short breaths that made her eyes burn. She told herself she couldn't let her mascara run. She swallowed hard when she heard footsteps on the stairs; she turned away from the mirror--completely away, so that she could not catch a glimpse of her eyes again.

"There you are!"

Somehow, the cheer in Jonathan's voice made the tightness in her throat go away.

"And don't you look smashing? I mean, I liked your hair last night, but it looks positively ravishing now that you've...well, whatever it is you've done with it."

Gretchen smiled, looking down so he wouldn't see her blink away the rest of her tears. She didn't see him frown at the mirror thoughtfully.

"What's that doing here?"

She didn't even glance at it. "Oh, it's...it's nothing."

He shook his head. "Now I know it's not nothing. Obviously it's a very large mirror. I'm only wondering what it's doing here in the doorway."

Gretchen sighed. "We can get rid of it--I want to get rid of it."

"Oh, so it's yours. The last of your, uh, things?"

She nodded slowly, a sob threatening her again. Jonathan looked at the mirror quizzically.

"Hmm. Well I can't say it's the loveliest mirror I've ever seen." He wiggled the creaking fram. "And not particularly well-built--"

"I just want it gone," she blurted suddenly.

Their eyes met. He ran his tongue over his lips, nodding slowly. "Very well. We'll have it out straight away."

She sighed. "Good. That's...that's good."

Gretchen glanced up to see a sympathy in Jonathan's gaze that both comforted and unnerved her. He took a step towards her and touched her arm.

"Perhaps you'd like to go to the docks--see the ship. It really is a grand thing, this steamer. Shall we go?"

She looked at him and nodded. He gave her arm a little squeeze and pulled her close to him. Something about the feeling of his arms around her made her muscles relax and her stomach tighten. "Really, I think a trip to London will be just the thing we need. My dear sister may think Egypt is a real gas, but frankly--she's not so fun as you and I. We'll positively paint the town, you and I--and you'll have to meet my old university boys. London is a whole other place than this dirty little city, nostalgia aside. And think! We'll be in Paris in a few weeks. You haven't lived til you've seen Paris, believe me. It will be...well it will be a breath of fresh air."

He tapped her chin and met her eyes, and she had to smile. She touched the side of his face.

"Thanks."

Jonathan smiled, shaking his head. "I suppose I am so transparent..."

She chuckled, and that slight show of happiness made him smile wider.

"Let's get in the car then."

"That," Gretchen said, "would be wonderful."


	5. Strange Coincidence

**Strange Coincidence**

Jonathan turned off the car and leaned against the seat, his back cracking loudly. Gretchen squinted between him and the big steam liner in confusion. The sun was already bright and angry despite the hour, and the heat poured over them in waves. Gretchen could already feel sweat beading on her forehead, and she wanted to get on the boat before she was drenched and smelling. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she tried to make out faces in the crowd of natives, tourists, and sailors milling about on the docks.

"Do you want to go over there and see if we can find Rick and Evelyn?"

When he didn't respond she turned her attention at Jonathan. "Just a moment."

"I'd like to get onboard before I'm burned alive."

He snorted. "Please. Stop being such a baby."

Gretchen's mouth gaped, and she smacked him in the arm. "Excuse--really? Really? _You're_ calling _me _a baby?"

A playful grin lit up his face. His eyes strayed to the crowd, watching them suspiciously as he reached a hand into his jacket pocket.

"Now don't tell Evy, but..."

She watched him pull something out of his pocket, his hand balled into a fist. She glanced between his eyes and his hand, curiosity building.

"What is it?"

Jonathan smiled devilishly and glanced up one more time at the crowd, just in case.

"Oh, come on, they're not over there. Even if they were, they couldn't--"

Jonathan opened his hand, and a little gold ring glittered in the sunlight. Gretchen leaned closer, her shadow falling over the jewelry. Blocked from the sun, she could see that it was a fairly simple band made to wrap around the finger. Her fingers hovered over it uncertainly.

"Pick it up. It's actually quite heavy."

Gretchen took the ring and felt its weight in her palm.

"It doesn't have any jewels or anything on it, though."

Jonathan nodded. "Yes, well. I thought this would go unnoticed more easily."

She shrugged. "I guess it's pretty enough. And you're right about it being heavy. What are you gonna do--sell it?"

He glanced at the crowds again, running his tongue over his lips. She didn't see his hands shaking. "Well, I...I thought perhaps you'd like to have it."

"Oh." Gretchen's stomach twisted against her will. Her mind flashed over a dozen other instances when Jonathan had nonchalantly left jewelry in her hand, on her bedside table... She took a breath and tried not to think about whether this moment fit in with those other memories.

"Seeing as how you did find the treasure and all, I thought perhaps...You know, maybe you'd like a souvenir."

She forced a little smile. "Yeah...it's nice."

Jonathan's smile was nervous but excited. "Well go on, then. Try it on."

Gretchen pushed the ring over the knuckle of her middle finger. She frowned as she held her hand up to the light. "It's a little big, but it's not bad."

"It looks lovely on you."

"Thanks." She could feel his eyes on her face, and she glanced at him again. "It was really nice of you to do that, but you--well, you didn't have to...you know."

His smile faded a little, and he looked at his shoes. Taking a deep breath, he distracted himself with the docks. "I suppose you'd like to get settled in the room, then."

She had trouble hiding her relief at that suggestion. Nodding, she reached for the door handle, but Jonathan quickly chided her. He hopped out of his side and hurried around to hers, opening the door for her. She smiled politely and he pecked a kiss on her cheek.

Her mind twisted with confusion as he escorted her through the maze of hot, smelling people. She kept her eyes down for the most part, letting Jonathan lead her as she closed her mind against the pain in her leg. Her hands itched, and for whatever reason, she wanted to take the ring off and shove it in her pocket. She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. All she could smell and breathe was acrid and dank and suffocating. She cleared her throat and tried to swallow the dry feeling that rattled there. When Jonathan paused in front of the gangplank, she took the much-needed moment to breathe.

She looked up and around her, the stagnant water of the docks replacing the smell of sweating people. The steam liner rose high and white above them, its paint glittering in the sunlight. Behind and in front of her were people, tickets ready. Everyone around her was so well-dressed and so...so overwhelmingly white. Never in Gretchen's time in Egypt had she seen so very many other white people in one place. It was all so familiar and terrifying when she caught the bright blue eyes immediately behind her.

"That's a lovely ring," the woman said, glancing at Gretchen's hand.

Gretchen smiled politely and started to turn around.

"Is it authentic, or one of those art deco pieces that everybody is so mad about these days?"

"Oh, it's, uh...it's real."

The woman smiled. "It's charming."

"Thanks."

Gretchen started to turn again, but the woman's clean British came at her again like a bird's song. "Was this your fist time in Egypt?"

Gretchen started to shake her head before realizing that this stay had been, in fact, her first trip. "Yeah."

"Well I do hope you enjoyed it. I've been several times--my husband has a knack for the ancient. He prefers Roman history, so naturally we spend some time here, thanks to Augustus and all of them...Goodness, my daughter was even born here." When she smiled, her teeth were brightly white but a little crooked. Her eyes twinkled, "I suppose you made time to do a little treasure-hunting, eh? Perhaps even went slumming?"

Gretchen shifted uncomfortably and glanced up the line. "Oh, um...yeah. Plenty of time for that."

The woman held out her hand. "I'm Mrs. Brookingham."

"That's nice," Gretchen said. After a moment of Mrs. Brookingham's unwavering eye contact, she was obliged to shake her hand. "Gretchen...Fagan. Miss Fagan."

"Ah," she smiled. "And am I mistaken, or is that Mr. Carnahan just ahead of you?"

Gretchen looked at the woman curiously. "Yes...?"

"I thought I recognized him from the papers." She opened her mouth to say more, but just then a mustached man took her by the elbow. She looked at him and smiled widely before turning her attention to the little girl in his arms. Gretchen immediately took this moment to excuse herself from Mrs. Brookingham's unwanted company.

She closed the distance between her and Jonathan, just as he handed over his and Gretchen's tickets and received a key in return. She caught his glance and he smiled, gesturing up the gangplank. Gretchen held onto the railing, keeping a suspicious eye on Mrs. Brookingham. The woman seemed oblivious to them now, but Gretchen wasn't so sure she _was_ oblivious. She knew a con when she saw one.

Jonathan led her onto the boat and across the deck, to a set of doors that let onto a hallway. Gretchen could still hear the Brookinghams behind them. When Jonathan stopped in front of their door, the Brookinghams passed on by, and Mrs. Brookingham gave Gretchen a bright smile. She waited until they had disappeared into a further room before pulling on Jonathan's elbow.

"Hey, do you know those people?"

"Which people?" Jonathan stepped happily into the room, taking a deep breath of the air coming through the open window.

"Those ones--the Brookinghams."

Jonathan's brow furrowed for a moment, but after a while he shook his head. "Name's familiar. Better to ask Evy--she remembers all of mum and dad's old friends."

Gretchen shook her head. "They weren't old. They had a little girl--she couldn't have been more than three or four."

"Well, I don't know," he said. "As I said, the name's familiar...Now. They'll be coming up with our luggage very soon. I've had it all arranged. Rick and Evy have rooms just across the hall--we'll probably hear them come in. And then we're off to London!"

She sighed, dropping to a seat on the bed. "So how much longer before we're going somewhere?"

Jonathan checked his watch. "Oh, another hour or so. Would you like to snoop out the bar with me?"

Gretchen almost rolled her eyes. "It's ten in the morning!" He gave her a skeptical look, and she added, "Besides, you've had me standing all day. My leg's killing me. I want to lay down for a little bit."

He looked disappointed, but hardly crushed. "Very well, then. I'll find it myself. But see if I help you out when you're wanting a drink later today."

She laughed. "It's a boat, Jonathan. There's only so many places it could be."

He pretended to huff irritably, and then kissed her on the cheek. "Alright then. I'll be back soon."

Jonathan practically skipped to the door. He glanced over his shoulder. "Last chance."

Gretchen shook her head. "Later."

She watched the door shut behind him and let out a sigh. Her gaze fell to the ring on her finger, and she indulged her desire to take it off. She held the thing tightly in her hand, not sure where to put it. The breeze coming through the window rustled her hair. From where she sat, she could see out over the deck. She watched a few passangers go by, catching a few curious eyes trying to peer into a room.

Gretchen wanted to smile, to be as happy and chipper as Jonathan. She kept reminding herself that this was it--that she was finally, _finally_ leaving Egypt. After all these years, after all this...well, this shit, she was going back to civilization. She wished she was happy about it...and she was. She was happy about it, but she just wasn't...she wasn't as happy as she would have liked to be. She felt too uncertain to be happy.

She remembered Henderson and Burns, and trying to talk with them on the way to Hamunaptra. She'd felt so disconnected, so alien and strange. She was American...but she wasn't American. And she didn't want to be reminded how very fake her hair and clothes were.

And then there was Jonathan..._God,_ Jonathan. But that was another anxiety in and of itself. She didn't know what to think about the way she felt. She didn't know what he meant to her, and she doubted what he kept telling her she meant to him. She still felt like...and it wasn't that long ago she was just a whore, too. It wasn't that long ago he'd paid her every time they... It just wasn't _that _long ago.

She shook her head, trying to make the thoughts dissipate. She looked up at the window again, and the eyes that met hers startled her. Every other passanger had quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught nosing around. But these eyes...these dark, haunted eyes buried themselves in hers. Gretchen took a breath as the familiar form stepped up to her window.


	6. Uninvited Guests

**Uninvited Guests**

"What the hell are you doing here, Meela?"

A dark smile glinted in the depths of her eyes. She reached a finger up and tapped Gretchen's chin.

"Only the same thing you're doing."

Gretchen swatted away Meela's hand when it lingered on her face. Taking a breath, she glanced into the sunlight before quickly returning her eyes to Meela's. That coy, wickedly intelligent gaze made her stomach drop. Gretchen tried to look unbothered by her presence.

"Seriously, Meela--"

Meela snorted. "I'm sleeping with a rich Englishman. He's enamoured."

Gretchen's eyebrows rose. "Well. Congratulations." She took a breath. "But shouldn't you be, you know--didn't Ghazi--"

"I'm getting out of this place."

Meela's dark eyes and set frown dared her to resume her question. Gretchen opened her mouth, and thought better of it.

"Really?" she asked lamely. "Aren't you...you know, _from_ here?"

Meela smiled and held her eyes in an uncomfortable stare. Gretchen felt measured and stupid, and utterly unnerved by those empty eyes. Meela clicked her tongue and brushed a strand of hair out of Gretchen's eyes.

"All the more reason to get out. Don't you think?"

Gretchen leaned away from her. "I have no idea."

Meela laughed a short, cruel laugh and glanced over her shoulder. When her eyes returned to Gretchen, they were mockingly sympathetic. With a smirk, she patted her on the cheek.

"Hûr, you 'have no idea' how very true that is."

Gretchen opened her mouth to respond, but someone knocked on the door. She turned around to see the door swing open. A young man in a uniform dragged her luggage behind him. She met his eyes and immediately turned towards the window again, but Meela was gone.

"Good day, miss. I believe this is everything."

Gretchen turned her attention to the bags on the floor and nodded. "Yeah."

He cleared his throat and stood expectantly in the doorway. Gretchen gave him an awkward smile.

"Anything else I can do for you today, miss?"

She shook her head. He paused a moment longer, let out what sounded like an irritated sigh, and left the room. Gretchen closed her eyes and sank to the bed. Her stomach churned, and her mind whizzed with an unidentified feeling. Why was Meela here? How could she possibly be out and about when only a few nights ago she was chained to a chair? Had Ghazi lost his mind? Her hands were shaking. She didn't know why Meela was on this ship, but she was certain she shouldn't be here...shouldn't be anywhere. Something was off.

She looked down at her hands, balled into tight fists. Taking a breath, she uncurled them, and the ring Jonathan had given her dropped into her lap. She wiped her palms on her skirt, and a little bit of pain pulsed in her palm. She turned her hands over and gasped. A round, pink burn was raised against her skin where the ring had been. She swallowed hard. _Must be some kind of allergy..._ the thought limped into her mind, and she couldn't make herself believe it. Rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers, Gretchen found herself wishing she had followed Jonathan to the bar.

When she heard the doorknob turn again, she let out a little cry of surprise. The door swung open and Jonathan skipped into the room, carrying a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne. He grinned at her and stopped just inside the room, holding the door open with his foot.

"Look what I talked the bartender into giving us."

Gretchen raised an eyebrow. _"'Giving'_ us?"

Jonathan snorted. "So I gave him a few pounds. What's the difference?"

Gretchen chuckled, but her attention was drawn away from Jonathan when Rick appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Gretchen."

"How are you doing this morning?" she asked. The burn on her hand was starting to itch.

Rick let out a sigh and almost rolled his eyes, but Evelyn's voice drifted into the room. "...I just want it to be secure, but I'd like access to it."

Someone assured her that her request would be taken care of. Evelyn slipped past Rick and into the room, looking flustered but lovely. Taking a breath, she plopped down on the bed beside Gretchen.

"What a day," she sighed. Rick snorted and nodded his head, stepping into the room. Jonathan let the door close. "But here we are!"

Jonathan beamed back at her. "Absolutely! And I think that calls for a little celebration."

"Do we have glasses?" Gretchen asked. Jonathan's face fell a little.

"Um...let me look."

Rick scratched the back of his neck and crossed his arms over his chest, looking directly at Evelyn. "So you feel good about these guys?"

She shrugged. "We're going to have to."

"I just...that's a lot of gold down there."

She smiled. "Ah, but the real treasure is in my bag."

Rick snorted. "Yeah, I know, the ancient maps and stuff. But most people don't see it that way."

Gretchen watched Jonathan rifle through empty drawers, the bucket still dangling from his hand.

"Can I have a piece of that ice?"

Jonathan absent-mindedly held out a bit of ice at arm's length, and Gretchen leaned over to reach it. She pressed the frozen object into her palm, numbing off the burn.

"I know that," Evelyn said, her eyes glinting a little. "They'll do as best they can. It's to their advantage to take care of expensive cargo."

Rick shook his head. "I don't know. I just don't trust 'em."

"Blighter!"

They glanced at Jonathan, whose face was sourly contorted. He dropped the bucket on a chest of drawers in disgust.

"Not a single bloody glass in this whole room!"

Evelyn shook her head. "We should celebrate after lunch, anyway. I haven't had a thing to eat all day. It would do me no good now."

Jonathan sighed.

"We can take some glasses from the dining hall," Gretchen said. He met her eyes and seemed satisfied with the suggestion. She glanced at her fist and noticed the water dripping from it onto the floor. "Actually, food sounds great right now."

Rick nodded emphatically. "I vote we eat lunch now."

Evelyn shrugged. "I could do lunch."

She stood up and offered Gretchen a hand. She stood and steadied herself, her injured leg protesting the movement. Jonathan cocked an elbow and she took it gratefully. They left the room and Jonathan reached into his pocket for the key to lock the door.

"Rick is actually in the suite next to ours," he said, jerking his head to the door down the hall. "There's a sitting room that connects us through the double doors--I suppose you noticed them."

Gretchen shrugged.

"And I'm right across the hall," Evelyn added with a smile. "You're welcome to come stay with me if Jonathan becomes disagreeable--"

"'Disagreeable'?" he said, pretending to be offended. He double-checked the knob, and they started down the hall.

Her green-gray eyes danced. "But I would suggest sending him over to Rick's room straight away instead. They've given him two beds--"

"For no apparent reason," Rick said.

Jonathan smiled. "Well, there'll be no need of them. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Gretchen could feel his eyes on her face--could almost sense the cold of his faded smile when she didn't look at him. She swallowed.

"It's a, uh, nice boat. Ship."

"Very nice," Evelyn said. "I've been told the meals are absolutely exquisite."

Rick shrugged. "They could hand me a can of beans at this point and I'd be happy."

"I'm sure they'd accomodate you," Jonathan said. Rick shot him a look, but both men chuckled.

The French doors of the dining hall were open before them, and sunlight beamed into the room through enormous windows. A host in a black suit and white gloves escorted them to a table covered in white linen and set with glittering silverware. A vase filled with pink and white orchids lent their fragrance to the table, and the host held chairs for both Evelyn and Gretchen when they were seated. Gretchen's throat felt dry as a waiter poured icy water into crystal glasses around the table. She wanted to reach for the glass, but her body was stiff. Everything was so beautiful and poised.

She looked up and watched Rick stare at the place setting before him. He felt her eyes and looked up; his deep blue depths reflected her own helplessness. They each forced a nervous smile, and seemed grateful when the waiter reappeared at the table.

"I've been told to inform you that you are actually about ten minutes early to luncheon. May I offer you tea or coffee while you wait?"

"Sure," Jonathan said. "I'll take tea--straight, please--and the lady will have a coffee with lots of cream."

The waiter nodded and turned to Rick. He shifted in his seat.

"Yeah, I'll just have a, uh, coffee--black."

The waiter nodded, but continued to look at him expectantly. Evelyn glanced between them and spoke up:

"I'll take tea, please."

He nodded again and hurried off. Rick loosened his collar. "Jeeze, what's that guy's problem?"

Jonathan took a sip of his water. "You're supposed to order for her."

Rick's brow furrowed. "How'm I supposed to know what she wants?"

Evelyn giggled and slapped his leg playfully. "Things they don't teach you in the Legion, I suppose?"

He shook his head. Gretchen caught his eye again and smiled. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm as lost as you are."

"Come now!" Evelyn laughed. "They're not going to shoot if you use the wrong spoon! It's a luncheon, not a war zone."

Rick sighed. "At least in a war zone I'd know what to do."

The waiter returned with their drinks. Gretchen was grateful to see the dark, steaming cup in front of her--and even more grateful for the little boat of cream that came with it. She glanced at Jonathan out of the corner of her eye, taking a sip of tea. How had he remembered that she liked cream in her coffee? She couldn't even remember mentioning it to him. She was both flattered and unnerved by his thoughtfulness.

"Do we know these people?" Rick asked through his teeth.

Gretchen's attention was dragged to the family approaching them, and held back a groan. Mrs. Brookingham met her gaze and smiled.

"Didn't I tell you, Henry? The Carnahans are onboard."

Henry Brookingham (as it were) smiled brightly. "So they are."

Up close, Gretchen could see that he was markedly older than his wife. His moustache and temples were graying, and his round face was creased here and there with wrinkles. He was at best as tall as his wife--certainly not taller--and he had clean blue eyes that gleamed with intelligence.

"Beg your pardon," Evelyn said, "but do we...know you?"

Mrs. Brookingham beamed. "Oh, I met Miss Fagan earlier today, but certainly you're aware of my husband, Miss Carnahan."

He held out his hand. "Henry Brookingham."

Evelyn's eyes widened and her jaw went slack. She regained enough composure to smile and shake his hand and invite them to sit.

"My goodness! Mr. Brookingham, what an honor! I had no idea you were onboard."

He smiled. "Henry, please, and the honor is all mine. You know I've been fighting for months to get your acceptance to the Bembridge Scholars."

Evelyn's jaw dropped again. "No! Why, Mr. Brookingham--Henry--I'm so very flattered. I had no idea anyone even--it's seemed so impossible for so long..."

"I believe you've gained the experience in the field they've been looking for." He winked. "But I'm being incorrigiably rude. This is my wife, Jane, and our daughter Penelope."

Gretchen glanced at the little girl around the vase of orchids, and her heart froze within her. The little girl looked up at Evelyn with wide, dark eyes, sucking on the very tip of her thumbnail. Jane pulled her hand away from her mouth and whispered something in her ear. The girl must have felt Gretchen's gaze and looked at her, tilting her head to the side. Gretchen's stomach twisted and churned. At the forefront of her mind, as clear as if it was in front of her, was that tin-type of her mother from so long ago. She could still see the full cheeks, the puffy lips, the wide, bright eyes of her mother at the age of four, sucking on the tip of her thumb in the faded picture.

"How old are you, Penelope?" Evelyn asked. Her voice sounded like it was underwater. Gretchen took a long drag of coffee to clear her head.

"Three," Penelope said, leaning forward. "I will be four."

Evelyn smiled. "Of course you will. And you know what comes after four?"

She grinned. "Five."

Henry smiled and touched her hair. "That's very good, Penelope."

Gretchen watched him smooth her light brown locks away from her face. He tucked a few strands behind her ear, and Gretchen felt dizzy. She tried to drink more coffee--tried to make her mind slow down--but, _God,_ his ears? She had _his_ ears?

Gretchen closed her eyes briefly, trying to focus her thoughts on reason. No, she had to be mistaken. This little girl couldn't have the ears of someone Gretchen knew. Anybody could have those ears. And she only happened to bear a resemblance to her mother at that age. Gretchen was probably remembering the tin-type wrong, anyway. If she looked at the girl again, she'd probably be cured of this ridiculous, impossible notion.

She opened her eyes to find Penelope watching her curiously.

"Are you alright?"

Gretchen nodded dismissively. "Yeah."

"What's your name?"

She swallowed. "My name is Gretchen."

Penelope wrinkled her nose, but didn't say anything. The two of them stared at each other, and Gretchen was only vaguely aware of the adult conversation going on around her. She studied the little girl's features and found herself angry at every new familiarity she noticed. Penelope couldn't look like her family. It was merely coincidence. She must look like her parents, too.

Gretchen glanced at Henry again. She looked at his ears and the side of his face, she noticed the shape of his eyes. She couldn't find a single trace of that man in the child. _But then he's not necessarily the father, either._ Her eyes flitted quickly to Jane, laughing at one of Jonathan's remarks. There had to be something of Jane in Penelope; she was her mother, after all. But everything from Jane's narrow blue eyes to her hooked nose and attached earlobes pronounced her from her daughter. Penelope didn't look a thing like either of her parents; she did look quite a bit like Gretchen's mother.

She shook her head. This wasn't--this couldn't--well, it wasn't impossible. But barely being possible didn't make it true.

Gretchen reached for her cup again, but her hands shook so terribly that she could not grasp the handle. Jonathan noticed just as the waiter arrived.

"Are you doing alright, love?"

She pursed her lips together and tried to nod convincingly.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost."


	7. Nightmare Men

**Nightmare Men**

Hours from the luncheon, Gretchen was still lost somewhere between a terrible night in Cairo and that picture of her mother.

The vodka hadn't helped. Gretchen was not a drinker, and even if she was--her slight frame hardly took an onslaught of alcohol kindly. It had only been a few drinks--two, no three--but the liquor descended on her like a heavy fog, and she couldn't shake it without making the world spin. She sat in her room on the brink of idiocy and grappled for a better hold on her sobriety.

Jonathan had dove off that same brink at least an hour ago.

He laughed like a twit, stumbling around the room in his undone trousers. She watched him, careful not to move suddenly. With caution, she let her eyes travel down to the gold ring on her finger. _This is the guy who claims he loves me._ She held back a snort as he knocked her hairbrush off of the dresser. _This is him._

She sighed, not entirely sure what to do with that thought. She let it loll aimlessly in the back of her mind and held back an unnecessary giggle.

"I swear I'm coming to bed sometime!" he let her know.

Something inside her twisted. Gretchen fumbled towards it, pushing past the fuzziness that was settling itself on top of her head.

"Jonathan, I want to talk about that."

He laughed. "About what?"

She took a breath and questioned the intelligence of pressing further. "The bed...sleeping situation."

"Well you can have the left side," he said, and he found that extraordinarily funny. He doubled over and laughed even harder--and lost his balance. He sat on the floor in a mess of his own chortles. "You always have the left side..."

"No, I mean..." She looked away. Maybe this was better left till morning...But the Russian fool in her kept talking. "I think you should stay with O'Connell."

He started laughing again, but noticed a little late that she wasn't joining him. His face contorted in a ridiculous display of offense.

_"Really?_ Huh--why?"

"I think..." Gretchen swallowed. "I think we should talk about it tomorrow, when you're...when _we're _not drunk."

Jonathan snorted; spit sprayed from his mouth. "Well if you ask me..._you_ could use another drink!"

She started to say a few things, but she stopped herself. Her thoughts were jumbling together in the most confusing way. Before she really knew what she was saying, the words staggered out of her mouth:

"I just don't want to have sex. We always have sex. I don't even know if you like me or having sex."

Gretchen had stepped off the brink, and she knew it. Guilt poked at her softly, and she was partially afraid to look at Jonathan after saying that. When she glanced up, he was staring at her in a way that she thought looked pathetic: brow furrowed, like a lazy child with a math problem.

"Well you know I like you."

She shook her head. "Please go. Let's talk later."

But he just kept staring. "It's you I like..." She could feel his eyes getting hurt against her face, but she wouldn't look at him. "But you just--you just want me to go. So I'm going, then! That'll make you happy, then? Here I go!"

He jerked himself to his feet and stumbled with determined steps to the door that separated their and O'Connell's suites. He gripped the handle and flung open the door.

"Have a good night!" he told the adjoining room, and slammed the door behind him.

Gretchen took a deep breath and let her body fall back against the mattress. _Damn it_, she thought. _Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why did I say that? Why did I say that now?_ She closed her eyes against the _damn its_ and tried to relax. She wanted to think about Penelope Brookingham, but she couldn't quite find the girl amidst all her self-irritation. Everything just seemed bad, and terribly confusing. Something dry in the back of her throat itched for more vodka, but she was too tired and too confused to get up. She kept her eyes closed. The weight on her head felt like sleep.

_Everything was dark and heavy like her head. Everything was bathed in a vodka fog; it condensed on the walls and the bed and on her skin. She licked her lips and they were wet with vodka, and she felt herself smiling even though nothing felt right._

_She heard a laugh--a thin, mocking chuckle like cigarette smoke. And then he was there, sitting next to her on the bed. She could even smell him, his acrid unwashed smell. And then he was looking at her, as if he'd been watching her all along._

_"I didn't know you were here," she said._

_He chuckled again, and the high noise grated against her ears. "I'm not here."_

_Her brow furrowed. "What are you talking about--not here? You're here. I see you. I'm talking to you."_

_He wore a yellow smirk. "Maybe you only want me to be here."_

_Gretchen snorted. "Why would I want you here?"_

_"Why wouldn't you?"_

_She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her._

_"You're still you. You're still a whore with no one to understand you. And I'm still me. I'm still the only person like you."_

_Gretchen sat up slowly. Her body felt heavy. Vodka slipped down her face like rain. "Are...you still?"_

_Beni took a cigarette from his pocket and slipped it between his teeth. "You mean am I still living?"_

_She nodded slowly. He lit the cigarette._

_"No."_

_Gretchen shook her head, but she only felt more confused. Her thoughts sloshed between her ears. For some reason, tears burned like alcohol in her eyes._

_"You died...at Hamunaptra. You died there."_

_Beni took a drag from his cigarette. He stared at something far away._

_"She's a pretty child."_

_Gretchen swallowed hard._

_"A lot prettier than those people who say they are her parents."_

_She closed her eyes against the vodka tears._

_"Pretty like your mother, like you."_

_Gretchen looked up at him again, something in the pit of her body begging him not to say anything more._

_"But with ugly ears. Ugly ears like mine."_

_Their eyes met, and he blew a train of smoke towards her. She watched his hand reaching toward her, and saw a large black beetle peek out from his sleeve. She gasped and screwed her eyes shut, but his hand was on her arm..._

Gretchen opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her lips. Her eyes snapped open, and he was gone. The room was dimly lit like before, and there was no vodka mist...but sweat clung to her skin. She searched for the owner of the hand, and her gaze collided with two dark eyes. She was relieved and frightened all at once.

She watched him bring a finger to his lips, and nodded nervously. He let go of her face and offered her a hand. With his help, she sat up.

"You..."

He leaned close to her; his breath was hot against her ear. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Gretchen tried to silence her jarred nerves. She nodded slowly. "Meela..."

He nodded. His hands tightened into fists, and released. "Ghazi is dead. He was killed only a few nights ago. The women say Meela left with a strange man, a professor."

Gretchen tried to understand, but she had to pull each statement, one word at a time, into her mind and make sense of it. She looked at him for a long time, and vaguely she was aware that he could see her confusion.

"Do you think...it has to do with the treasure?" she asked finally.

He looked down. His eyes traced the heavy black marks on his hands. She looked at his hands, too, but she couldn't tell anything by them.

"She will try to raise Imhotep. I do not doubt that."

His gaze lifted to meet hers. She noticed now that he had his own confusions.

"But I don't know why she's here."

Gretchen let out a sigh. She continued to stare into his eyes. She felt something like solace in their shared insecurity.

"Have you told anyone that she's here?"

She looked away, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. "No...I guess I didn't know if it was important...it seemed odd, but not...She's still the same person, you know?"

He shook his head. "Do not make that mistake. She's not the same person."

Gretchen closed her eyes and let her head fall into her hands. "How did you know to come here?"

He was so quiet that she had to look up and see why. She realized quickly that he was staring at the gold ring on her finger.

"Where did you get that?"

She twisted the ring nervously, the dim light dancing across its curves. "Jonathan found it..."

He took her hand and slipped the ring from her finger. He held it up to the light and mumbled something in Arabic. Gretchen watched him impatiently.

"What?"

His hand closed over the ring. "It was hers."

Gretchen's brow furrowed. "Whose? Anck-sss...hers?"

He shook his head, shoving the ring into his robes. He rubbed his face, and Gretchen's confusion was inching towards the point of frustration.

"Ardeth, I don't know what's going on."

He lifted his eyes and met her there, with a black gaze like velvet. She saw now the tired lines mapped out beneath his eyes, and felt the gentle touch of his patience. He looked at her, long and quiet, and the cold anger inside her melted away. She stared back at him because he offered her something like peace in the darkness.

"I do not know, either, Gretchen."

She licked her lips thoughtfully, feeling her mind drift back to an unanswered question. She couldn't look away from him.

"How did you know to come here?"

He almost smiled. "I didn't. I only knew that you were here..."

Her heart tightened. She couldn't feel the quiet smile tugging at her lips.

"...and she has an uncanny way of following you."

Gretchen held back a small scoff. She glanced away from his eyes, and he stood up slowly from the bed. The mattress springs barely whispered a protest.

"I am here, and I am watching. If anything should happen...I am not far."

She smiled briefly at the floor.

"It is good to see you again, Gretchen."

Her head jerked up, and she met his eyes again. She didn't know why something inside her sank as he shifted his weight toward the door. He cleared his throat and spoke softly to the floor.

"It is a surprise to see you alone."

Her stomach knotted around itself, and her eyes begged him to look at her again. But he wouldn't. He turned to the door and she only caught the ghost of a smile passing over his face, glinting out of the corner of his eye. She wanted to say something more, anything more--but by the time she forced her mouth open, he was silently, hauntingly gone.


	8. Rich Problems

**Rich Problems**

"Coffee?"

Jonathan rolled over with a loud groan, his spine popping as he turned it towards Gretchen. With a sigh, she placed the cup on the bedside table and touched his shoulder.

"Jonathan?"

"What?" he demanded through his pillow. He jerked his shoulder from her hand.

She rolled her eyes.

"Jonathan, I brought you coffee."

He muttered something like "vile shit" into the layers of down. Gretchen tried to lean over his body and get a look into his face. His eye crept out and met her in bloodshot irritation.

"Best way to cure a hangover," she said. He didn't crack a smile.

"I want to sleep..."

She snorted. "Yeah, I know the feeling...but it's almost two in the afternoon. You can't sleep forever."

"Watch me."

Gretchen let out a long, annoyed sigh. "Jonathan...I want to talk. Would you please get _your ass_ out of bed?"

Reluctantly, he rolled onto his back, looking up at her with a blotchy face and tousled hair. He yawned, and the air between them filled with the dead taste of morning breath.

"Well when you put it like that," he grumbled. He stretched, more joints popping. Gretchen looked away and winced; that noise always irked her. "What's there to talk about? I woke up in O'Connell's room with my clothes on...mostly...and alone...so I'm not sure what there is to say."

"Jonathan...you know what I want to talk about."

He propped himself up to sit, leaning heavily against the headboard. He winced at the pain of looking around, and reached defeatedly for the cup of coffee beside him.

"Well," he sighed, taking a sip and wincing again, "ladies first."

Gretchen bit down on her lip thoughtfully. She couldn't quite look him in the eye when she started talking, and she was only vaguely aware of the way her fingers kept tracing and retracing the seam on the sheet.

"Okay...well, um...Ever since I've known you, Jonathan--I mean ever since the day we met--we've been sleeping together...you know, since day one. And, you know, that was okay...because it was my job. But we've never...the whole time we've known each other, we've never..._not_ been sleeping together. We've never been out to dinner, we've never gone to a show--and that was okay, because it wasn't my job to do those things. It was my job to sleep with you, and you paid me..." She took a much-needed breath. Her throat felt so dry. "But that's not my job anymore...And you've been sweet, Jonathan. You've been really great, but...I just don't know if I'm ready to start sleeping with you because I...because _I _want to. You know?"

She looked up at him, and he watched her thoughtfully. He didn't say anything, and she couldn't let the silence get comfortable.

"I don't mean to say that I don't like sleeping with you. It's...I mean, it's good. But, uh...but it's just really hard for me to go from sleeping with you because it's business to sleeping with you because I care...which sounds really harsh, and I'm sorry. But...do you know what I mean?"

Jonathan took another sip of coffee and smiled sadly. He reached out and stopped her hand from fiddling with the sheet, and closed his fingers around hers.

"You want a courtship," he said quietly, and his smile brightened. "Every lady deserves a courtship, after all." He brought her hand to his lips. "Very well. I'm declaring a hiatus on all...sexual endeavors, and I'm leaving it for you to decide when that hiatus is lifted. How's that?"

Gretchen smiled briefly and nodded. She looked up at him, and something inside her felt warm and peaceful because of his certain eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He kissed her hand again, and released it. He turned his face away from her to yawn this time. "I suppose it's too late in the day for breakfast."

She scoffed. "It's too late in the day for lunch."

Jonathan rubbed his head and let out a pathetic groan. "Well I've got to eat something..."

Gretchen held back a smile. "How about you shower and clean up, and we can go in for tea. That'll hold you over till supper."

He shrugged and mumbled something about the inadequacy of cucumber sandwiches and biscuits. He stood up like an old man and dragged himself to the bathroom. Gretchen waited until the door was closed behind him to leave.

She crossed the floor to the French doors that let into the sitting room between this room and hers. She meant to go right to her room and freshen up, but when she noticed Rick and his whiskey sitting there thoughtfully, she froze. He glanced up at her and gave him a tired smile.

"'Afternoon."

She smiled back. "'Afternoon."

He lifted his glass to his lips and took a small sip. "Take it he's awake now."

She nodded, shifting her weight. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Rick shrugged. He jerked his chin in the direction of a cabinet in the corner. "There's liquor in there, if you want a drink."

Gretchen shook her head and took a seat. "I had enough last night."

"Did you sleep it off?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I had the weirdest dream..."

He scoffed. "That makes two of you."

Gretchen tilted her head to the side and looked at him. "Two of us?"

Rick nodded and took another sip. "You and Evelyn."

A smirk tipped the corner of her mouth. "How do _you_ know what she was dreaming about?"

He gave her a look and sighed. "She told me about it at breakfast."

She glanced down. "Oh...Sorry."

"Me too." He spat the words into his glass.

Gretchen let out a sigh. The silence stretched long and obvious between them. She was considering her room again, and a polite way to get there, but something about his presence pinned her there, like half a question. She crossed her legs and waited for something unknown.

He polished off the last of the whiskey and looked at her.

"Do you think two people who are really different can work?"

The suddenness of his words struck her like a fist. She couldn't hide the confusion in her eyes, but he didn't look away.

"I--I don't know..."

"I don't know Evelyn. I hardly know anything about her. But the more I learn, the more I want to be with her...and the more I learn, the less I think we can work."

Gretchen's brow furrowed. She felt somewhere that Rick's blurted confession should surprise her, but it didn't.

"So you're thinking about...it working? Like for a while."

He took a breath and let it out nervously. His eyes dropped to the empty glass in his hands.

"I've never felt this way before...I've never thought this way about anybody before."

She cleared her throat and glanced at her fingernails. "I guess...I don't know what you want me to say."

Rick's eyes jerked up and asked her to meet them. She looked into his eyes carefully, and watched the restless blue begging her for an answer.

"Look, maybe it's stupid...But I just...I don't know. Do you think it can work? When two people are so different--when everything's been different for them their whole lives...is it even possible to make it work?"

Gretchen sighed and shook her head. "I don't know. I know...when I was working...men came to see me with every excuse. They were too different from their wives, they were too similar. I think...I think maybe people just decide to make it work, no matter what. I think they find something worth staying together for and hang on to it. I don't know if there's any other way."

Rick laughed humorlessly and placed his glass on the coffee table in front of him. He smiled at her in a way that was too sad and too confused to be happy.

"So you've never been here?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You mean...in love?"

He winced a little. "I don't know if you can call it that."

"What do you want me to call it?"

"I don't know..." He snorted. "Fine. You've never been in love?"

She stared into the blueness. "No."

"Businesswoman." But the way he smiled after saying it was benign. She smiled back at him.

"Something like that."

He sighed. "I never used to worry about this stuff."

She laughed and nodded knowingly. "I used to worry about having enough money to eat through a dry spell."

"I used to worry about where I'd sleep each night."

They watched each other, and that same familiar feeling warmed Gretchen the way it had at lunch the other day. She felt him getting comfortable in her gaze, and she watched the shadow of a smile dip into his cheek. She thought about laughing--letting the awkward little noise shatter their silence--but it was too homey, too nice.

Finally, he looked away.

"You know what? These are rich people's worries. We found that treasure, and now we've got rich problems."

She laughed, and he laughed with her. And they enjoyed the soft blanket of sameness.


	9. Crêpes Suzette

**Crêpes Suzette **

"Now I know this is tea, and that this question is completely inappropriate--but I just so happen to be the wealthiest man onboard, and I have a request."

Gretchen watched Jonathan's candid propriety with bright eyes and a smile. She held back a giggle when the waitor hid his surprise with a pair of raised eyebrows.

"Very well, sir. We'll see what we can do."

"Good!" Jonathan leaned back in his chair. "Now neither the lady nor I has ever tasted crêpes suzette, and I hear it's absolutely delightful."

The waitor gave him a succinct little nod. "I'll see what can be done to accomodate you, sir."

As he hurried away, Gretchen gave Jonathan a playful jab with her elbow. "Crêpes suzette? Seriously?"

He scoffed. "What? You think I was just being cheeky when I said that's what I wanted before I die? It's a _pancake_ made with _liquor,_ Gretchen. Can't you grasp the magnitude of what we're about to eat?"

Gretchen lifted an eyebrow and sighed. She opened her mouth to chide him some more, but the corner of her eye noticed a few familiar forms moving towards them. She sat quietly, mouth open, and let her gaze turn to stare at the Brookinghams. She barely heard Jonathan groan something about seeing these people again; she had found those large brown eyes--the only brown eyes in the family--and that thumb set delicately between her lips.

"Good afternoon!" Jane greeted. "Do you mind if we join you?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Well, actually--"

But Henry was already holding out Jane's chair.

"Miss Fagan!" Jane was saying, "I didn't know Americans came to tea."

Gretchen's stomach curled around an image she make out more clearly than Jane's benign and homely face. _Dirty walls, and a bed wrinkled with brown-spattered sheets, and a man--_

She shook her head, but the image only faded--it didn't go away. She gave Mrs. Brookingham a fleeting smile. "Yeah...well, I just try not to miss a meal."

The Brookinghams laughed their good-humored, British laugh.

"Oh, now I don't believe that for a minute," Jane said. "You're thin as a rail!"

_"And narrow," Ghazi had said, touching her hand with his rough little fingers. "Your hips are too narrow. Having a baby would probably kill you anyway..."_

Gretchen forced a little smile through the murky memory. Jonathan sighed dismissively. "Well, you know how it is, starving away in the desert, searching for ancient things..."

Jane turned a surprise glance to Gretchen. "You mean you were out there as well? My heavens, girl! You're a braver soul than I..."

Henry patted her hand. "Oh, now, let's not be too hasty. Perhaps Miss Fagan is an ancient scholar like Miss Carnahan?"

Their words came to her under waves of thoughts. She forced herself to shake her head and looked away, catching a glimpse of a waitor. He looked at her and smiled, and though he had a friendly face, all she saw were yellowed teeth and impish, twinkling eyes. A headache began to tap rhythmically against her temples.

"As I suspected. Miss Fagan hardly seems the type to get wrapped up in all that dusty nonsense--"

Henry gave her a playfully stern glance. "Now, Jane, she was out there with the lot of them. Miss Carnahan claims we are, in fact, indebted to Miss Fagan for all of the treasures below deck. Perhaps you are no archeologist, Miss Fagan, but you certainly know the value of Hamunaptran artifacts."

Gretchen's throat felt raw. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell them to shut the hell up--that she was tired of hearing about all of this, this _shit._ She wanted to tell them, to tell them...She opened her eyes and met Penelope's wide gaze again. She saw those eyes, saw them_ again._ Wide and bright and thoughtful, _like the first time, when the nun had wrapped her red little body in a cloth and smiled and said..._

_And said..._

The Brookinghams were staring at her now, and Jonathan was nudging her arm.

"Gretchen, are you doing alright?"

_"She looks just like you."_

She shook her head and reached for her glass of water.

Jane gave her husband a swift pat on the hand. "See? Now the poor girl's feeling ill. Perhaps another time, or when you and Mr. Carnahan have a moment to yourselves--"

Henry shushed her and turned his attention back to Gretchen.

"Alright, well, at the very least we can suggest it, and then she may make her decision when she chooses..."

"Over-eager," Jane chided with a smile.

The pain in Gretchen's temple soared.

"Miss Fagan, in light of your very important discovery, I would like to encourage both you and Mr. Carnahan to consider an application for the Bembridge Scholars. There's positively no way we could afford to turn you down."

Henry's words floated to her ears in another language; she couldn't understand him and she didn't want to. Cautiously, she glanced at Jonathan, who simply shrugged.

"I'll consider it," he said. "Why not?"

Gretchen shook her head. She swallowed, and her eyes dropped to Penelope fiddling quietly in her chair. _It was a blue night in Cairo, in a room with dirty walls and dirty eyes faulting her with their glare. She saw his ears, and she heard him say the words, heard them again and again..._

_"Well, get rid of it."_

Gretchen swallowed hard. She mumbled something about excusing herself for some fresh air that no one else at the table quite heard. Jonathan reached for her arm, but she swatted it away. She could feel the Brookinghams' eyes--curious and apologetic--throwing words at her like candies. They bounced against her ears and fell to the floor, unheard and untasted. She only saw Penelope, watching her with an unabashed stare. Watching her with _those eyes, those large, dark, searching eyes...She looks just like you..._

Gretchen didn't see the waitor and ran into him. He steadied her with many pardons and watched her hurry past him. She didn't hear him apologize to Jonathan about them being out of Grand Marnier, or ask the Brookinghams if there was anything he could get for them.

She brushed past people without excusing herself. Before she was really certain were she was going, she was stopped by the rail and the endless glistening ocean below. She took a breath, and another, and another. The air was wet and salty on her lips, and she drank it in like vodka.

"Gretchen?"

Her stomach twisted into a knot. She glanced at Jonathan beside her.

"Gretchen, are you feeling ill?"

She swallowed hard again. "Jonathan, I think...nevermind."

"Would you like me to stand out here with you for a while?"

She shook her head. He shifted his weight indecisively, and reached a hand to brush her shoulder.

"Are you sure? Because I'm in no hurry to return to the company of the Brookinghams."

He forced a laugh, but she did not. She didn't even crack a false smile.

"I want to be alone...just for a little while," she whispered. His eyes were sad and understanding against her cheek. He nodded and drifted away.

Gretchen stared into the blueness. She watched the light shift and turn on the glass waves until her eyes were dazzled. She thought about closing them, and didn't. She wanted there to be nothing but the waves and the blue and the sprays of wet air on her face. She didn't want to think anymore. She didn't want to see anymore.

_"She looks just like you."_

_"Well, get rid of it."_

She felt the warmth of another presence beside her long before she turned her eyes to see who it was. She could barely make out a face through the painful glitters of white. Evelyn didn't look back at her at first. The wind was pushing around her thick, dark curls like it pushed around the waves. She looked beautiful and empty, like a painting. It was several minutes before she finally let out a sigh and came back to life.

"I think...something strange is going on. Something I don't even believe in."

Gretchen nodded. "Me, too...strangely enough."

Evelyn looked at her. "I don't think dreams mean anything."

"I'm starting to think they do."

Evelyn glanced at her hands. "I was baptized. I can't say that I'm a strict believer by any means, but I was baptized."

Gretchen wasn't sure what that had to do with anything. But she nodded her head again lamely. "Me too."

"I've been having this dream that I lived in another time. But it's not like a dream...it's like a memory."

Gretchen tilted her head to the side, but she didn't say anything.

"Baptized people aren't reincarnated," Evelyn said, and she tried to chuckle. Her laugh was broken falsely against the rhythm of the waves.

Gretchen let out a sigh. "I've been thinking crazy things, too..."

But Evelyn didn't seem to hear her. She kept staring at the water, talking to it.

"I kept thinking about this golden box...It kept showing up in the dream. And so I went below deck early this morning--and there it was, just as I dreamed. Every detail."

Gretchen shrugged stiffly. "I've been remembering things I thought I'd forgotten...for good."

She closed her eyes felt the sea spray against her face. A bad feeling was knotting and twisting itself inside her. She looked at Evelyn and sighed.

"I think...I think I know that Penelope Brookingham is my daughter."

Evelyn raised her eyebrows and forced a little smile. "That _is_ crazy."

Gretchen scoffed. "As crazy as you dreaming about...this box?"

Evelyn shrugged. "I think it's very important...this box, and I'm not certain why. I've been translating the 'glyphs on it all day. I don't know what to think about them. Some kind of ritual...some kind of curse..."

Her words shook Gretchen out of her own memories for a moment. She remembered Ardeth's words._ I won't be far._ And she hoped they were as true as they felt. "Well...be careful what you say, you know..."

Evelyn shook her head. "That's what Rick keeps saying. But I have to know...I've just got this--this need to know. It does something...I'm almost afraid to bring it to London. I'm afraid it could fall into the wrong hands."

Gretchen didn't know what to say, but she was afraid to leave Evelyn. She felt the weight of her words, almost as if she needed to hear them. She listened on the pinpoints of her nerves.

"But it's missing...there's this round piece that fits into it, I think. I can't imagine we left Egypt without it...I don't know."

Evelyn straightened, shaking her head. "I just don't know. But I think we must find out before we make it to port. I have a...I have a bad feeling about it."

Gretchen watched her walk away--heard her determined footsteps click all the way down the deck. She sighed.

_Penelope Brookingham is my daughter. Meela's here. Ardeth's here. Evelyn has a gold box and bad feeling..._

She sighed and threw the final thought on top, _so Jonathan better get his damn crêpes suzette._


	10. Cocktail Hour

**Cocktail Hour **

Gretchen didn't like to be the kind of person who thought to herself,_ I need a drink._ But after the wave of ugly memories that had assaulted her that afternoon, the numbing happiness of alcohol felt like a necessity. She sat impatiently near the bar, waiting for Jonathan to return with her drink. Evelyn sat next to her, looking distracted. She was pretty in that long, black evening gown--boring as it was--and three men had already approached their table asking for a dance. Gretchen might have taken one of them up on the offer if she hadn't been the second choice every time.

Rick weaved back to their table, balancing a whiskey in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other. He placed it in front of Evelyn and took his seat. Gretchen held back a snort. Wasn't that her luck--here she was _needing_ a drink, and Evelyn, who hadn't even wanted anything, already had her glass of wine. She was about to ask what was taking Jonathan when he appeared at the table again.

He set his brandy down and carefully placed a mysterious drink in front of her. Her brow furrowed at the bright red cherry bathing in the midst of the pale liquid.

"What is this?"

Jonathan took a sip from his brandy. "It's Mary Pickford."

"I remember asking for a vodka..."

He shrugged. "It's a cocktail. They're apparently all the rage in America right now, what with Prohibition and all that."

She scoffed. "And a cocktail is...what? Like root beer?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Oh, no. Of course not. It's liquor and juice and other things, to hide that there's liquor in there. I thought you might like to try it. Get a taste of home, you know."

Gretchen looked at him incredulously, but raised the glass to her lips and took a drink. It was sweet and fruity, and hid the sickly burn of the rum. She almost smiled and begrudgingly admitted that it was pretty good, but her eyes caught hold of something strange. She picked up the napkin the drink had been on and tried to make out the words penned on it. The condensation on the glass had washed away some of the ink.

She leaned closer to Jonathan.

"Hey, can you read what this says?"

He took the napkin from her and held it up to the light.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Carnahan."

Their attention was suddenly drawn to the waitor at their table. He leaned close to Evelyn and whispered something. Her eyes widened. She nodded and started to get up from the table.

"What's the matter?" Rick asked.

She swallowed hard. "We'd better go with him."

Gretchen frowned thoughtfully. Jonathan looked at her and shrugged. He placed the napkin back on the table and pointed out the words. "'After you.'"

She picked up the napkin, staring into the blurred message. Jonathan touched her shoulder. "Come on."

Gretchen started to ask why they all needed to go, but it became clear very quickly that no one was listening to her. They walked quickly and quietly behind the waitor, who handed them off to one of the deckhands. He was a large man--startlingly muscular and dark. Thusfar on their trip, Gretchen hadn't noticed a single person of color onboard of any vocation--not that she had been looking, just that she figured one or two might stand out amidst the whitewash of passengers and staff. Then again, maybe he was just doing a job that was supposed to go unseen.

They followed him further and further into the belly of the ship, beyond the levels of elegant molding and painted walls. The inside of the ship was metallic and cold, and only Gretchen's curiosity was keeping her from turning back. _Well, that and not knowing the way, _she admitted to herself. They descended down a final steel staircase into an enormous hold. Luggage was stacked neatly everywhere. Other than a few automobiles and motorcycles, the scenery was fairly boring. But Evelyn stepped quickly to her point of interest. The others hurried to keep up.

In a corner was a stack of crates that probably would have gone completely unnoticed, except for the large metal cage bolted and locked around it. Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God!"

She whirled around to look at the deckhand. "But where is he?"

The deckhand said nothing, but crossed over to a door near the cage. They started to follow him, but he held up a hand. He knocked twice on the door, and four other deckhands struggled out, dragging their prisoner with them. They forced him to his knees, and with his hands tied behind him, he was obliged to kneel quietly. He tossed his dark curls out of his eyes and looked up at them. Gretchen gasped.

"Ardeth?"

She couldn't tear herself from his eyes. Next to her, Evelyn gaped in surprise.

"Well--but this can't be right. We know this man. He's not a looter!"

The deckhand nodded gravely, his glare boring down into Ardeth.

"Yes. I know this man, too. How is my sister, Chief Bay?"

Ardeth turned his gaze to the other man. "Embarrassed and dishonored like the rest of your family, Lock-Nah."

Lock-Nah looked down, and sadness passed over his face briefly. "I never meant to dishonor her."

"The damage is already done."

Gretchen had never heard Ardeth speak so venomously. She glanced fearfully at Lock-Nah, and winced when he took a threatening step towards Ardeth. But he was halted by the sound of heels on metal steps and a familiar voice.

"Not so fast, Lock-Nah."

Gretchen's stomach tightened, and she didn't want to look up to meet that face. She heard Evelyn gasp something about the box, and her heart sank.

"This looks promising," Rick muttered under his breath. She glanced over to look at him, but his eyes were focused on their visitor. With a sigh, Gretchen looked up and directly into the endless black eyes. Meela gave her a feline smirk.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Gretchen cleared her throat. "Yeah. Fancy that."

Meela held a small, glittering box in her hands. She was followed by an older, strangely-dressed man.

"Have we...been previously acquainted?" Jonathan asked with a thoughtfully furrowed brow. Gretchen turned to give him a look.

"Drop your weapons," Meela said.

Rick breathed a sigh, and eyed the "deckhands" surrounding them. With a pointed glare, he told her, "The ship already has them."

Jonathan gaped. "You actually_ brought_ weapons onboard?"

Rick honored him with an obvious look. Meela was staring at him carefully.

"Very well. A tuxedo is no place for a gun, I suppose. Not so good a place as under your pillow, anyway."

Rick's eyes widened, and she gave him her coy smile.

"What do you want?"

Her smile evaporated, and her eyes flitted to Evelyn. She looked at her evenly and said something in a language Gretchen didn't understand. She looked to Ardeth for direction, but his eyes were wide with realization. He muttered something to himself and shook head head.

Rick fidgeted. His agitated glance jumped back and forth between Evelyn and Meela.

"What's going on?"

Evelyn glanced at him calmly before turning her attention back to Meela.

_"Anck-su-namun?"_

Meela quirked an eyebrow and smiled. _"Nefertiri."_

Ardeth let out a loud sigh. Now he was saying something in that language. Gretchen glanced at Jonathan, whose face was contorted with thought. He whispered the words to himself, trying to decipher a meaning. Her eyes turned to Rick, who shared her look of aprehensive confusion.

"Where's Beni when you need him?" he muttered. She let out a quiet, nervous laugh and nodded.

Meela started talking again, her gaze never wavering from Evelyn. She had a lot to say in that odd language, and only one word stood out meaningfully from the mess of sound: _Imhoptep._ Gretchen winced. She watched Meela cautiously, wishing that she could at least know what was about to happen. When the flow of sound stopped, Evelyn glanced down and let silence fill the large room. Rick touched her shoulder.

"What's going on?" he asked again.

She sighed. "That box...it would take quite some time to explain it, but it gives her the power of the pharaohs. Once she speaks the incantation, she's a queen onboard the ship...everyone will worship her like they did the pharaohs, and they'll go where she wants them to go. And...she wants to go back to Egypt, for Imhotep, and...she wants me to be the human sacrifice."

Rick crossed his arms over his chest. "Again with the sacrifice--"

"There's something else," she whispered. "She thinks...she thinks that I'm someone from the past--someone Anck-su-namun didn't like at all."

_"Nefertiri,"_ Meela's voice came impatiently.

Evelyn swallowed hard. "She wants me to consent."

Rick scoffed. "Yeah. And if you don't?"

Evelyn looked up at him. Gretchen imagined she was losing herself in the blue, just for a moment.

"There _is_ no not consenting."

Jonathan shook his head. "But--well--what of the rest of us?"

Rick glared at him, but Evelyn nodded solemnly. "I don't know. If you fall under the curse, there'll be no stopping her."

_"Nefertiri."_

She glanced up and met Meela's eyes. She said something defiantly that made the other woman laugh. With a grim smile still poisoning her expression, Meela held up the box and chanted something. Her voice echoed through the hold, and when the last ghost of her words disappeared, everything went black.


	11. The Solution

__

**Author's Note. **Can you believe I'm updating? I can barely believe it myself. And, hey, if you review, I might just update again sometime soon. ;)

**The Solution**

A flash of light blinded them for a moment. Gretchen squeezed her eyes shut, pain shooting through her head. Her heart was throbbing in her ears, and she was afraid to open her eyes - even when she heard her companions gasping in astonishment. A hand that was most certainly Jonathan's squeezed her shoulder.

"Gretchen, you really must see this."

Cautiously, she cracked on eye open and gasped. She gazed around the room in wide-eyed awe; everything around them was different. Where before there had been cold steel and a high ceiling, there was now walls of reed and wood and plaster. The room was no longer lit by electricity, but by sconces burning on the walls. She turned her puzzled gaze to Jonathan, who could only shrug.

"What happened?"

"It's under her spell," Ardeth answered.

Gretchen took a deep breath and turned to look at him. He watched her steadily.

"Everything...everyone is under her control now."

Gretchen swallowed hard. "Are...we?"

He sighed. "I do not know."

"Well I don't know about you," Rick put in gruffly, "but I don't feel mindless."

Evelyn huffed thoughtfully. "It simply doesn't make any sense. Why would we - all of us - be exempt from her curse?"

She implored Ardeth with impatient eyes, but he didn't have an answer for her. After a brief, quiet moment, Rick said:

"Well, as long as we have our minds, how about finding some way to stop this broad?"

"I'll second that," Jonathan said.

Gretchen nodded, slowly taking in her surroundings. The treasure and its cage were gone. There didn't seem to be anything down here at all, except them. A pleasant sound, like music, drifted down through the ceiling. Something about the benign noise made Gretchen's stomach twist apprehensively. She turned to ask Jonathan if he heard the music, too, but the sight of Evelyn and Ardeth kneeling on the floor, an old map spread out in front of them, caught her attention and forced the music out of her mind. She took a few steps closer and looked over their shoulders, even though she knew she couldn't read what it said.

"Where did that come from?" she asked.

Ardeth didn't glance up when he answered, "I took the liberty of taking it from Evelyn's room earlier. It's a manuscript about the Chamber of Osiris. I wanted to get a closer look at it."

She frowned in confusion. He raised his eyebrows:

"The gold box."

"Oh," Gretchen breathed, glancing up to catch Rick's impatient and strained eyes. They shared a look of hopelessness, but said nothing.

Jonathan leaned down, half-heartedly scanning the aged paper. Minutes ticked by in silence, and Gretchen felt her anxiety growing with each passing moment. She willed her muscles to relax against her fear. They were alive for now - but who was to say they would be in another minute, in another hour? They were themelves for now - but what if Meela cast a spell over them in the next moment? Then what?

Gretchen, frustrated with the alien symbols on the paper, looked away and tried to think. Why weren't they touched by the spell? Was there something about them that made them immune? Maybe because they had defeated Imhotep...but _they_ hadn't. Rick and Evelyn had. Jonathan, in a way, had. And Ardeth had played a role. But Gretchen had been outside of the city with a gunshot wound in her leg. Perhaps it was because they had all been at Hamunaptra...maybe something there protected them... But that seemed unlikely. Hamunaptra was cursed. It had been nothing been trouble and darkness; it didn't make much sense that a cursed place would protect them.

Then what? It seemed there was nothing obvious that made Meela incapable of casting a spell over them. So it was more likely that she had chosen not to. They were down here, unguarded and alone. Nothing was hurting them. Nothing was threatening them, which meant...

There was no way she could be defeated.

That was the only answer. If they were helpless against her, why not leave them sane? Why not leave them alone? Whatever the solution to spell - if there even was one - it was either impossible to achieve, or so undesirable that it might as well be impossible. And Meela was just cruel enough to leave them with their sanity to figure out that they were utterly hopeless.

She sighed loudly and shot an irritable look at Evelyn and Ardeth.

"Forget it."

Their resentful glares attempted to rebuke her, but she was barely fazed.

"Don't you get it? There's no way to crack this thing."

Evelyn's brow furrowed. "There _is_ a way."

"There's not."

Rick scoffed. "C'mon, Gretchen. There's always a way."

She turned her eyes fiercely to his. That - that obnoxiously persistent nobility glinted back at her in blue. She wanted to slap him. How couldn't he see it? How could he have survived the same streets she had and still be so resiliant against cynicism? What was _wrong _with him?

"No," she said. "If there was a way, we'd be under her spell. There isn't any goddamn way."

A strange expression passed behind Rick's eyes. He swallowed uneasily, but his gaze didn't waver. Evelyn's clean, determined voice cut their stare apart.

"There_ is_ a way," she said again. She tapped the papyrus. "It's right here."

Ardeth's gaze flicked to the symbols she was pointing to and scanned them quickly. His eyes grew wide with realization, and they looked wild when he turned them to Evelyn.

"It's madness."

She glanced at him and shook her head. "It's the only way."

"You can't - "

"Hey guys," Rick's voice cut in. "You wanna let us in on the big secret?"

Jonathan sucked in a deep breath. "Oh, my word! You can't be serious, Evy?"

Evelyn didn't even honor him with a glance. She looked up at Rick steadily, and took a breath.

"According to this, if a kindred spirit wears one of the spellbinder's tokens, he can break the spell by...killing himself."

The words hit Gretchen's stomach like a well-aimed punch. She felt too sick to move. She looked to Rick frantically, but he only stood there frozen, mouth agape.

"You mean," he said slowly, "one of us has to..."

Evelyn nodded quietly.

"But - But we haven't even got a token!" Jonathan sputtered. "And, anyway, how should we know who this 'kindred spirit' even is?"

"He's right," Rick said. "This isn't a way, Evelyn. There has to be something else - "

"There isn't."

Ardeth's dark voice drew all of their attention. He turned his gaze slowly to Gretchen's. Her whole body tensed, and she knew.

"Well this isn't an option!" Rick's voice was strained and frustrated. He took a few threatening steps toward Ardeth, but stopped short when he realized he didn't have his attention at all. He followed Ardeth's gaze to Gretchen, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

Gretchen's arm shook as she held out her hand. The gold ring Jonathan had given her glistened in the firelight.

"It was hers," she barely managed to whisper, unable to tear her eyes away from the damned thing on her finger.

Jonathan rushed over to her; she was vaguely aware of his hand on her shoulder. "But, my dear, that doesn't mean that you're - "

Gretchen closed her eyes against a mist of tears. Jonathan stopped suddenly, and she took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she stared directly into Ardeth's sad, dark depths.

"She has an uncanny way of following me."


	12. Fretful Decision

**Fretful Decision**

Jonathan shook his head frantically, his eyes darting about to each of his companions with wild determination. His fingers were tight on Gretchen's shoulder, and his grip was making her tension even worse. She tried to slow her breathing, but she just couldn't. She steeled her spine against the mess of her nerves; she was all too familiar with her own unfortunate tendency of fainting, and she definitely didn't want that now. But the Carnahan siblings' squabbling was making it very hard to think:

"There has to be another way, Evy!"

"Well there's not, Jonathan. I'm sorry - "

"This is no time to be giving up. You go back to your silly scroll there and you find another way!"

All the while Ardeth's dark gaze was on her, sympathetic but removed. She couldn't take comfort in their blackness, so she searched for O'Connell's fantasy world eyes. But when he looked back at her, she saw nothing but gray, uncomfortable pity. All of her muscles tightened. With a strength she wasn't aware she possessed just then, Gretchen wrenched free of Jonathan's grasp and stepped between the Carnahans.

"Would you two _shut up?"_

She hadn't intended it to come out so gruff, but their voices stopped immediately. She looked between the two of them, and couldn't quite make her gaze apologetic.

"Just - stop."

But they had already stopped.

She took a deep breath and choked on a sob. She blinked rapidly so they wouldn't see her tears. She swallowed hard and mumbled something about not being able to do this before storming off to a lonely wall. She could feel their wide eyes on her, but she didn't look back at them. She pushed their concerned whispers out of her mind and dropped to her seat. Her legs shook, but she grabbed them and held them to her chest. She buried her face in her knees and focused on breathing. If her heart didn't stop racing, she couldn't think. She took a deep breath and held it. When she finally let out a sigh, her mind felt a little more normal.

She'd been right about the spell: the solution was too undesirable to consider. Meela had left them free because she knew they would be unwilling to do the one thing that would save the world. _No,_ she thought bitterly, _that's not true at all._ Ardeth would willingly lay his own life on the line if it meant preventing ancient evil from taking over. Evelyn would gladly step up to the task, too. Rick, with his accute sense of duty and honor, would take it like a champ; and even Jonathan, if the cards were stacked as they were, would do the right thing. No, this was about Gretchen. If any of the others had been the one to reverse the spell, they'd all be blythely unaware and spellbound. But because it was _her_, because she wasn't noble and she didn't do the right thing, because she had never been the self-sacrificing type, they were all sane and free to figure the mystery out.

If Gretchen didn't go do this thing, the world would be under Meela and Imhotep's control.

But - but what was it Beni had said in the treasure room? Something about just rulers and evil rulers, and how they'd starved under both. Was it really _that_ important that they try and stop Meela now? Would Imhotep really be capable of doing a worse job than anyone else who's ever headed a nation? Should she really feel guilty about not wanting to sacrifice herself for politics? Who really cared?

She glanced up and saw her companions, huddled and whispering. She caught a glimpse of Evelyn's face, creased with worry and fear. Gretchen's stomach dropped. They cared. Maybe not about the world at large (though it was evident Ardeth and Evelyn certainly did), but about each other. She saw the way Rick was staring steadily, silently at Evelyn. How he couldn't take his concerned eyes away from her.

If Gretchen didn't do this thing, Evelyn would be a human sacrifice.

So it was her life or Evelyn's.

Gretchen couldn't say she would willingly trade her life for the life of anyone over there, but if she had to choose - Evelyn would be at the bottom of the list. Which wasn't to say she didn't like Evelyn. But if she was going to die for somebody, well...at least Jonathan was sweet, and Ardeth was noble, and Rick - well, if she was going to die for anybody, it would be Rick. But Evelyn was...she was just so... Well, to be perfectly blunt, she was the one who went around messing with this shit and creating disasters. She raised Imhotep. She messed with the gold box. And even if this incident with Meela really did have nothing to do with her, Gretchen couldn't help thinking that in some vague way, this was all Evelyn's fault.

And she's supposed to die for her?

Gretchen may not have been as intelligent as Evelyn. She certainly wasn't as idealistic or educated or classy or brave, and God knew she wasn't as pretty. But Gretchen knew how to mind her own business, and in this realm of hokum and magic, that made her considerably more deserving of survival. Maybe Evelyn was "better" than her - maybe she was a lady - but Gretchen wasn't worthless. She hadn't dragged herself out of a sandstorm to have someone tell her she wasn't good enough. That her life wasn't as valuable as Evelyn Carnahan's. Fuck all of them if they tried to tell her so, too.

Her hands knotted into fists, Gretchen was ready to get up and tell them all that they could go to hell; she wasn't going to kill herself to alter history or to take the place of the lovely Miss Carnahan. She was just starting to get up when another thought assailed her, making every muscle in her body freeze.

_What about Penelope?_

Gretchen tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. She felt dizzy and nauseous all the sudden, and that panicked anxiety that had consumed her moments ago was beating hard in her chest again. She tried to slow her breathing again, but she couldn't. The question echoed over and over again in her mind. _What about Penelope?_

She saw the girl in her mind, with her large dark eyes and puffy lips, sucking idly on the tip of her thumb. The girl that she knew, she _knew_ was her own. The girl she'd fought Ghazi to see through a pregnancy for (even if it was principly for the fear of an aborter's dirty and infected knife); the girl she'd handed off to a nun without a name; the girl who was born so very white, and was guaranteed a better life for it. Had Gretchen really done so much for Penelope's good, only to leave her callously under Meela's spell? Her stomach knotted and twisted with the realization that the girl was up there, oblivious and controlled like the rest of them. Was Gretchen really going to hand her over, so powerless and unprotected, like she had when she was born? Was she really going to do this to the child twice in her life?

Tears were filling Gretchen's eyes. Waves of guilt rocked her body, and she struggled to maintain control of herself. She didn't want to die for Evelyn or for politics or even for Penelope. She didn't _want _to...but she could. For the girl, she could. Her companions might not have been worth it...hell, the whole world might not have been...but that child was. Gretchen hadn't kept her alive in her body and given her up to the nuns in the hope of a better life for no reason. Gretchen could have kept her, but she didn't. She gave her to people who would care for her and provide for her, and she had no business taking that away now.

Taking a deep breath, Gretchen steadied herself against the wall and stood up on shaking legs. Somehow, she managed to stride to the group with more confidence than she was feeling just then. Their hushed conversation stopped. They were all staring at her, but she didn't look any of them in the eye.

"I'm going to do it."

Jonathan took her by the arm and forced her to look up at him.

"Gretchen, you don't have to do this - "

She slipped her arm out of his grasp gently and looke away. "I'm doing it. You can't change my mind."

Gretchen could feel his eyes - wide and worried - on her face, but she didn't meet his gaze. Cautiously, she looked up and stared into Evelyn's careful, quiet eyes.

"Are you sure about this?"

She nodded. "I have to."

Rick kept staring at her, his eyes sad and regretful, but he didn't say a word. He reached behind his back and pulled a small gun from his waistband. The firelight flickered across the deadly black thing as he held it out to her.

"Oh, God," Jonathan groaned, closing his eyes against the hateful thing. He looked into Gretchen's eyes and begged her silently to stand down from her decision. But Gretchen reached a trembling hand out and took the gun from Rick. It was heavier than she expected. She kept staring at Jonathan. Slowly, tenderly, he pulled her into his arms and held her to him. She could feel his heart racing, and her fingers tightened on the gun. He kissed her forehead and tipped her chin up to look at him. His eyes were glazed and red as he gazed at her and smiled.

"It's been a pleasure knowing you, love," he said, clearing his throat of a sob. "A real pleasure."

Gretchen closed her eyes against the tears and let him pull her in for a kiss. But it wasn't the deep, passionate ordeal she'd been expecting. He kissed her softly - so softly - and his lips were so gentle and warm that it made her hurt inside. She was both relieved and longing when he let her go and took a step back. Without a word, he strode to the other end of the boat and disappeared into the wide shadows.

Before she knew what was happening, Evelyn had clasped her into a hug, too. She whispered something that Gretchen didn't hear, her mind too lost in the darkness where Jonathan went. Evelyn released her and held her out at arm's length, pulling her gaze into her own. Something in Gretchen was surprised to see her misty eyes.

"I'll never forget you," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's a brave thing you're doing. A truly brave thing."

Gretchen didn't know what to say. She was grateful when Rick touched her shoulder and stole her attention away from Evelyn. She stared into the endless ocean of his eyes, and her knees buckled. Without a second thought, she wrapped her arms around him, and because she was going off to die he had to hold her. Her body melted into his arms, and everything she had so nobly decided was lost in the smell of him and the feel of him. She wanted this to last forever, and it did. An eternity passed in the blink of an eye, and he was letting her and all of her dreams of him go. He pulled her away gently and thanked her for what she was about to do.

She looked at Ardeth and he smiled sadly. Something tragic broke behind his eyes, but his expression didn't change. He held out his hand and she took it, his strong fingers wrapping protectively around her own. He looked down at her and told her he was going to take her to the next level of the ship. She nodded her head and followed along obediently behind him.

She glanced back once to see that they were covered in darkness. Rick and Evelyn were no longer visible, but there was a faint light ahead and above them. Entirely too soon, Ardeth stopped in front of a ladder, pallidly lit by something shrouded above them. He met her eyes in the soft dark.

"Up there," he whispered.

Gretchen nodded. She shifted he weight and waited for him to leave her, but he kept staring into her eyes.

"I guess this is it, then," she mumured, glancing at the foreboding ladder.

He took her chin and turned her face to his again.

"I never would have thought..."

She swallowed uneasily and tried to find the words. "I'm surprising myself a little here."

His hand lingered on the side of her face, his fingers softly caressing her hair.

"I'm sorry she has done this thing to you."

Gretchen closed her eyes and tried to take a breath. She barely choked out the only words that came to mind, "It's a dirty business."

Ardeth's fingers curled in her hair, and without warning he pulled her into a strong, suffocating kiss. Gretchen's mind, so blurred with a thousand thoughts, crashed to a halt as his arm clenched her to his body and his tongue ravaged her mouth. She felt herself moan against his lips, his beard gruff and painful and wonderful against her cheek. She wrapped her arms around his neck and twisted her fingers in his black curls, and for the first time in a long time she wanted a man inside her.

But he pulled his lips from her entirely too soon, and he untangled himself from her body and she was cold. She heard his ragged breath and knew he wanted her, too.

She reached for him. "Please - "

But he took a step back. He took her hand and squeezed it.

"You will be a part of me forever, Gretchen."

She gasped back a sob.

"Perhaps we will meet again on the other side of eternity."

Before she could protest, he released her fingers and disappeared into the darkness. Gretchen bit down on her lip and tried to force away the pain. Her body shook with the want to cry. She reached for something to steady herself, and her hand caught one of the rungs of the ladder. Her stomach dropped sickeningly, and her trembling stilled.

"Penelope," she whispered to herself. With a deep breath, Gretchen turned around and began to climb up the ladder.


	13. Fiercely Underestimated

**Fiercely Underestimated**

Gretchen really couldn't believe her eyes.

When she managed her way up the ladder, she stood in a narrow passage shrouded by a thin, gold curtain. She could see movement behind it, and the music she had heard below was much louder now. Voices she couldn't distinguish rumbled pleasantly in front of her. Everything sounded peaceful - certainly not the hellish display she'd been expecting, a la Imhotep and his diseased zombies in Cairo. She was almost afraid to pull back the curtain - to see something disturbingly different from what appeared to be going on. But she took a breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled the curtain aside.

She expected the pleasant sounds to stop abruptly, but nothing happened. Cautiously, she cracked her eyes open. Then she couldn't stop staring.

Everything was magnificently beautiful around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew the styles were ancient, but the floors and ceilings and curtains and paintings were all so glittering and new that she couldn't think of them as "ancient." The tiles on the floor were bright, cheery shades of blue and tourquoise; the walls were painted with figures vaguely resembling the ghostly, crumbling remnants on Hamunaptra's walls. But their strange stances and wide eyes no longer scared her; they looked fresh and whimsical and happy.

Gretchen was quickly distracted from the walls, however, by the people bustling casually about the wide, decadent hall. All of them wore crisp, white shifts - men and women alike. They wore different jewelry - some wore dazzling collars and others donned colorful capes and shawls - and all of them, _all _of them wore make up. No one seemed to notice her at all.

Taking a breath, Gretchen forced herself to forget all of the strange but welcoming beauty around her and focus on her task. Where was Meela? She had to be somewhere in this group, didn't she? Gretchen closed her eyes to shut the people out, but their voices kept floating to her ears. What were they saying? Gretchen tried to focus on their words, and suddenly realized she couldn't understand anything they were saying. It all sounded like nonsense - but a vaguely familiar nonsense. Where had she heard that language before? It certainly wasn't French or anything European...

Gretchen's eyes snapped open, and a sick feeling trickled in her stomach. Of course. They were speaking ancient Egyptian. They were under Meela's spell. And all of this happy bustling about was just a spell. They may have been a lot nicer looking than Imhotep's droves, but they were caught in the same, sad state. She met the eyes of a man and gasped. Those hollow depths chilled her, sending shivers up and down her spine. _My God_, she thought, _what if - what if they're all...dead?_

She started to take a step back behind the curtain, more than ready to tell the others that this just wasn't going to happen. This was just too bizarre - too frightening. If she had to spend another second here, she was going to lose her mind. She wanted to turn and run, but her legs felt frozen. Her hands clenched and uncleched, and she tried to calm herself down.

She had to at least try. She was already up here. And further - Meela probably knew she was. If she turned around and went back, she would only have to work up the nerve to come back up here again. And maybe the second time, Meela's little puppets wouldn't be so happy.

With a deep breath and more confidence than she was feeling just then, Gretchen strode into the crowd. The people didn't seem to notice her, and didn't even move out of her path. She bumped right into a very large woman and stumbled a little in her heels as she tried to regain her balance. The woman didn't bat an eyelash. Sighing, Gretchen started on her way again, this time trying to be more careful about weaving through the oblivious mob. It was hard to watch where she was going and search the room for Meela. Try as she may, she couldn't help tripping over something very low to the floor. She glanced down in surprise to see a child playing with a doll. Her heart stopped when she recognized the soft, brown curls.

Gretchen knelt down beside the girl and touched her shoulder. The girl didn't move, and Gretchen hadn't really expected her to. She peered around to look into the girl's eyes, even though she knew they wouldn't look back.

"Hey," she said, and she wasn't even sure why. "Penelope. I'm your mother."

The words felt strange in her mouth, but something inside her quieted just by saying them.

"I'm your mother," she said again, "even though you don't know I am. And...I'm going to save you, even though you don't..."

Gretchen's throat tightened. She swallowed hard, and squeezed the girl's shoulder gently. She wanted more than anything for Penelope to look up at her - to let her know she could hear. But the girl just kept playing and humming to herself. Gretchen sighed, reaching a hand up to scratch her head. Her fingers brushed over a bobby pin. Without really knowing why, she pulled it from her hair and held it in her hand. It had been an expensive little thing. The pin was jeweled on every side, and she had thought they would look great in her platinum locks - make them sparkle. Without giving it another thought, she pulled back a piece of Penelope's hair and gently pinned it. The pin glittered bright and happy against her brown curls.

She wanted to kiss those soft, pretty locks, but she didn't feel like she could. With a sigh, Gretchen stood up and reminded herself, again, that she needed to find Meela. Her eyes darted wildly about the room, but she couldn't make out anything that would obviously suggest that Meela was near. Frustrated, Gretchen took a breath and yelled:

_"Meela!"_

Nothing happened. The room kept bustling, unaware as ever. Angrily, Gretchen pushed past a few more people and tried again, only this time:

_"Anck-su-namun!"_

Everyone froze. Suddenly every dead, empty eye was gazing directly at her. Gretchen gulped, and started to take a step backwards. But the crowd shuffled around behind and around her, forming a clear path directly in front of her. Gretchen's gaze followed the path, straight to a couch where a somewhat disinterested Meela lounged and ate grapes. She was regal in a long, glinting gold sheath and a diamond-studded collar. Her arms and hands were covered in gold bracelets, and every finger - except for one - wore a gold ring. Gretchen's fists tightened when she realized which one was missing.

Finally, Meela met her gaze.

"Can I help you?"

Gretchen's heart raced with anger at Meela's cold, bored tone.

"You know what this is about, Meela."

Meela laughed, short and humorless. "Humor me, Hûr. I'd love to hear exactly what you think you're doing."

Gretchen glared, searching her mind for the right words. Her eyes dropped to Meela's hands again.

"Missing something?"

Meela's gaze followed her eyes to her empty finger before flashing up to Gretchen's in surprise.

"So that's where it ran off to."

Gretchen held up her hand. The simple gold ring caught on the light and twinkled like a lonely star.

Meela reached down and plucked another grape off of the vine. She took her time chewing and swallowing it before finally speaking again:

"Anything you plan to do with that?"

Gretchen shifted her weight, but her eyes stayed steady on Meela's. "Guess."

Meela sat up a little. "And what makes you so certain you can even break the curse, Gretchen?"

"We - we're kindred spirits," Gretchen managed, her voice faltering.

Meela lifted an eyebrow. "Are we?"

Gretchen swallowed hard and glanced down. Was Meela right? She didn't feel any connection to the other woman - wasn't that what being a "kindred spirit" was all about? They'd never liked each other, never gotten along. Sure, Anck-su-namun had managed to bother them both with dreams and visions, but hadn't she just been using Gretchen? What if this was all just a big mistake? Was she really going to kill herself for nothing at all?

She looked back up at Meela again, watching her chew another grape. She looked perfectly satisfied and relaxed - not at all concerned with Gretchen anymore. Meela glanced up at her, and her brow furrowed.

"Are you still here? Why don't you go back below deck with your friends?"

Gretchen glanced over her shoulder to see another path open up behind her, leading straight to the curtain. She could go back. She could tell them this was a mistake - that someone else must be the "kindred spirit," whatever that even means. There had to be another way to fight this...

Gretchen closed her eyes. No. There wasn't another way.

She turned back to Meela and glared directly into her eyes.

"You know what, Meela? You always were a real bitch."

She saw Meela open her mouth to say something, but the whole world felt silent. Before she had a chance to tell herself not to, Gretchen pulled Rick O'Connell's gun from her dress, pressed it against her temple, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

_Dun, dun, dun...Think it's over? Think again. Next chapter coming (hopefully) sometime soon. R&R, friends!_


	14. Snake Pit

**Snake Pit**

"That's some shiner you got there, toots."

Gretchen blinked heavily, trying to make sense of what was going on around her. Wherever she was, the lighting was very dim, and everything felt very close and hot. It was difficult to breathe, and even harder to hear. Shaking her head, she tried to make out the people crowded around her.

"I said that's some shiner."

Her gaze jerked in the direction of the voice, and she gasped. A handsome young man sat at a table by himself, a rope tight about his neck. His arms seemed to be bound behind his back, and his soaking wet clothes were riddled with a dozen stab wounds. Even in the poor lighting, she could tell that his skin was bluish and cold. Her eyes dropped quickly away from his body, to his feet. But they were fused together in a block of cement that was no less harrowing than his other wounds.

"I got one myself."

He twisted around a little, and Gretchen saw the bloody, crushed back of his head. Her stomach turned; her eyes were drawn immediately away to the rope that lay taut against his back, from his neck to his wrists, bound together. Gretchen swallowed hard.

"What happened?"

He turned back around, and shrugged easily. "It's what happens when you rat, toots. Wouldn't be so bad if I could reach my cigs."

Gretchen took a deep breath and tried to steady herself against a table. She was either dead, or in a drug-induced sleep. She tried to take another deep breath, but the stifling air offered little relief. _I'm dreaming, _she told herself. _There's no way this is real._

"Excuse me," she barely managed to murmur, stumbling away from his table. She tried not to look at the people seated at the other tables - some in groups, some alone. The whole room smelled distinctly of sweat and dried blood. Gretchen's eyes glanced around wildly for some quiet place where she could escape to think. Up ahead, she could barely spot a bar in the brownish light. Breathing a sigh of relief, she quickly wove her way around the tables and up to the bar. She was even more relieved to see a row of empty barstools, and fell into one gratefully.

"Water, please," she threw at the bartender's back. His familiar snort made her suddenly feel cold in the uncomfortable heat. Beni turned around and handed her an icy glass.

"That is what everyone here wants."

She just gaped at him in awe. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Beni finally said:

"Huh. I thought syphilis took longer than that."

Gretchen still couldn't bring herself to say anything. After another silent moment, she was able to close her mouth.

"What?" he grinned. "No remarks from you? And with me being such an easy target right now. What happened to you, Gretchen?"

Gretchen swallowed hard, still trying to make sense of this mess around her. Finally, she whispered, "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I am a bartender in Hell."

"No, really."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Yes, really. Do I look like I am doing something else right now?"

She shook her head. "This can't be - I can't be - "

"Dead?" he threw at her callously. "Why not? Everyone else is. And with that bullet hole in the side of your head, I don't think you could be anything else."

Gretchen reached up to her temple with trembling fingers. Her skin was wet and sticky, and she quickly pulled away. When she glanced at her hand, it was soiled with blood.

"Oh my God."

Gretchen couldn't get enough air, no matter how hard she tried to breathe in. Her head suddenly felt very light, and the world started to tilt and grow dark. But a hand on her wrist brought her back to reality.

"It is hard for everyone," Beni said. She stared into his eyes and tried to calm herself. He nodded at the glass in front of her. "Why don't you drink some water?"

She didn't need any more convincing - within seconds, she was gulping back the icy water. She slammed down the empty glass and tried to regain her breath, gazing up at Beni plaintively.

His eyebrows rose. "Another?"

She nodded.

He took the glass with a sigh and turned around to pour her more. Gretchen took a deep breath. She was dead. And apparently, she was in Hell. She looked around cautiously. Though nobody seemed too friendly, and the room was plenty loud, Gretchen had to admit - it could be worse. She would have expected Hell to be a little more...scary.

Beni set the water down in front of her, watching her take another long gulp. His heavy gaze annoyed her, but when she looked up to see the intense longing in his eyes, her heart softened a little.

"What's the matter?"

"I can't - I can't drink it."

Gretchen frowned in confusion. "What?"

"I can't drink the water. I serve it all day. And I can drink other things. But can you imagine how much worse coffee makes the heat?"

Gretchen swallowed hard, casting a guilty glance at her glass.

"Oh... I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Many people here have offered me theirs. But I cannot lift the glass."

Gretchen ran her tongue over her lips. "So this is your, uh..."

"Eternal punishment? Yes. It did not sound so bad at first. But let me tell you, it becomes hell."

Her stomach dropped. With no other motivator but pity, she reached across the bar and took his hand.

"I'm sorry."

He glanced down at her hand curiously, but quickly regained his composure in time to scoff at her. "Don't be. You have your own problems. What did they strap you with?"

Gretchen shook her head. "I don't...I don't know. Nothing I guess."

Beni tugged his hand out of her grasp. "What do you mean, nothing? They don't give anyone nothing!"

But when the confusion behind her eyes didn't pass, he sighed. He looked her over carefully, and it made her nervous.

"Would you stop that?"

"There's something about you. Something strange." He stared at her a moment longer before holding out his hands. "Touch me again."

Confused, Gretchen put her hands in his again.

"They're warm," he said. "Warmer than before."

Gretchen stared at him. "What does that mean?"

Beni shrugged. "How should I know?"

But the way his wide eyes stared at her suggested that perhaps he _did_ know. Gretchen thought through what he had just told her again. Everyone received an eternal punishment, but she hadn't. And her hands were warm - getting warmer -

"Do you think I'm still alive?" she whispered.

Beni swallowed hard, and glanced away. "Don't get your hopes up."

A silence clattered awkwardly between them, their eyes wandering around the room and into the darkness - anywhere but back to each other. Eventually, they both found their way to Gretchen's glass, watching the condensation slip languidly down the side.

"I had a dream about you the other night," Gretchen told him without looking up.

"I know," he said. "I was there."

Her head jerked up and met his gaze. "What?"

"I was there. It's the only time we ever get to leave. Which is fine - until everyone you know dies."

A strange sense of dread seeped into Gretchen's veins. If she really wasn't dead, she had to get out of here. Her eyes darted around the room, but she couldn't see any doors...or even any walls. Just darkness and people caught in the darkness. Taking in a sharp breath, her eyes turned desperately to Beni's.

"Is there a heaven somewhere? Or is this all there is?"

Beni shrugged, almost mechanically, as if the question meant nothing at all. "I suppose. No good people are down here."

Gretchen sighed, trying to blink away her suddenly misty eyes. "I guess I belong here, then."

He frowned, tilting his head to the side. "Did you kill yourself, Gretchen?" he asked suddenly.

She startled, reminded again of the gaping hole in the side of her head. She didn't quite look at him when she nodded.

"I always thought you were a survivor. That was how we were so alike."

She met his eyes. And for the first time, she saw something deeper and warmer, something tragically full where he had always been so obnoxiously empty.

"I guess the whole self-preservation thing wasn't all it was cracked up to be," she said finally.

That old impish grin broke out across Beni's face. "Don't tell me you died for other people!"

Gretchen shook her head. "Only one."

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment before she spoke again:

"Did you know about...her?"

"You mean Penelope?" Gretchen nodded. Beni chewed on his lip. "Not when I was alive...I learned many things when I got here."

Gretchen glanced down. "I'm...I mean, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. There's no way I could've known at the time, but I'm sorry you didn't know..."

Beni scoffed. "What would I have done? Ask you to play house? You know I was not a good person. I am not here by mistake."

Gretchen nodded slowly, her fingers idly tracing over the lip of her cup.

"Still I wish I could have seen her...But I am glad she will never know me. You regret who you were in life in this place."

Gretchen could feel her heart swelling for him, for perhaps the only time in all the years she had known him. She glanced at her fingers, still dancing around the rim of the glass, and stopped.

"Beni, would you like my water?"

He sighed. "You know I can't - "

"Here."

She held up the glass and motioned for him to tilt his head. He gave her a look, but let her press the glass against his lips. When she lifted the glass, however, the water wouldn't slide down. Gretchen couldn't believe it. She tried tipping the glass higher - even overturned it on his head - but none of that precious, cold water would spill out.

Beni breathed a defeated sigh, but Gretchen shook her head. Taking a deep gulp, she reached across the bar and pulled Beni into a kiss. The water flowed from her mouth into his, and she gently released him. For the first time in what was certainly a long time, he drank water.

The gaze that met hers was so full of emotion that, coming from Beni, Gretchen was disconcerted and uncomfortable. She tried to resist the urge to lean away from the bar when he reached a hand up to touch her face.

"I always knew you would make me happy," he said quietly.

Gretchen took a breath, and reached for his hand. But when she touched him, she couldn't feel anything. His image in front of her began to fade, and something bright was breaking through the darkness all around her, sweeping away the forgotten souls and their smell and the heat. It was bright - so very bright that Gretchen had to squeeze her eyes shut agains it. The light burned against her eyelids, bright and clear. She could feel herself breathing easier now. Everything felt lighter, and she could swear she was being lifted up out of the terrified dark.

Somewhere in this new place, someone was calling her name. Cautiously, Gretchen opened her eyes.


	15. The Miracle

_**Author's Note. **I know it's been forever, but this story is so close to the end that it seems silly to just leave it where it is. So, without further ado, the next chapter._

* * *

**The Miracle**

"Gretchen?"

She opened her eyes to the sound of the familiar voice, but she couldn't see a face anywhere. All she could see was the ceiling of a room, splashed with sunlight. The air was salty and cool, and felt perfectly relieving after where she had just been... or what she had just dreamed. She wasn't sure now whether her short stay in Hell had actually happened, or if it was even possible. She tried to swallow the dryness in her throat and turn towards the voice. It didn't hurt as much as she'd expected it to.

Her gaze collided with a set of deep, dark eyes that she didn't immediately recognize. She studied the handsome face for a moment, and then the memory flooded over her. Trembling. The endless dark. A last ditch effort. And a deep, beautiful kiss.

"Ardeth," she breathed. He smiled at her, and mumbled something to himself in Arabic. In a flash, he was sitting at her bedside.

"I was hoping you'd awaken on my watch."

Gretchen frowned thoughtfully. "Your watch?"

Ardeth nodded. "You've been out for two days. We have been taking shifts sitting here with you."

She reached up to rub her head, but she was startled by her fingertips touching something like cloth instead of the side of her face. Ardeth gently reached over and took her hand away from the dressing.

"I thought I was dead."

"You had us all convinced, for a while."

Gretchen wanted to laugh, but it was all she could do to smile. She closed her eyes against the sunlight for a second, trying to pull the pieces of her memory together again. Ardeth squeezed her hand.

"It is done, Gretchen. You broke the curse."

The curse. The ship. A hundred gleaming, golden people with dead eyes. And Meela.

Gretchen opened her eyes carefully. "What happened?"

Ardeth took a breath, and his gaze drifted over to the window. "We heard the gunshot. And someone screamed. We rushed up to the ballroom, and you were on the floor, and there was a lot of blood... No one seemed to know what had happened. There's a doctor who's been caring for you... He wants to put you in an assylum, actually, because you clearly shot yourself. Jonathan has been trying to convince him you were doing a parlor trick and didn't know the gun was loaded, but he's not terribly convinced."

Gretchen did laugh this time. "That's just my luck, isn't it? I try to save the world and they want to lock me up in a looney bin."

Ardeth looked at her steadily, as if measuring her. "There was something else."

She tried to sit up a little, but the small motion made her head rush. She clenched her teeth against the dizziness and propped herself up on her elbows.

"On the floor near you, there was a mummified woman."

Gretchen took a sharp breath. "Meela?"

"Anck-su-namun," he corrected. "Her followers... Lock-Nah and all of them, seem to have disappeared. The ship is missing two lifeboats. There's no way of knowing where they went. But they are gone."

Gretchen nodded slowly. She suddenly felt very tired, but her mind was buzzing with all of this new information. "So it's done, then."

"Yes."

She sighed and turned over on her side to look at him. "But how am I still alive, Ardeth?"

He reached a hand up to stroke her cheek. "I don't know. But I always try not to ask too many questions when Allah decides to bless me."

Gretchen didn't know what to do. She had the urge to pull his hand away from her face, but his touch was so warm and soft, and the look in his eyes was so very sweet... Sweeter than anyone had looked at her in such a long time. His mouth jerked a little, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But then he pulled his hand away and stood up from the bed.

"You should rest."

She shook her head. "I've been out for two days. And I feel fine."

He chuckled. "That is because the doctor has filled you with morphine."

Gretchen pushed herself up to a sitting position. "Well even still..."

Ardeth shook his head, but he was smiling. "I suppose I am being selfish. The others would like to see you as well. Shall I get them?"

She sighed, thinking it over a moment. Suddenly the thought of seeing a bunch of people made her very tired, but she didn't want to be left alone to rest again. So she nodded.

"But...maybe one at a time?"

Ardeth smiled again, and nodded. He crossed the room to the door, but stopped just before opening it to look at her again. "It's wonderful to see you again, Gretchen."

She smiled at him because she wasn't sure what to say. He slipped out of the door and she let her body rest against the headboard of the bed. She suddenly caught sight of a mirror on the wall directly across from her. The image fascinated her.

Someone had undressed her out of her evening gown from the other night. Instead she only wore a bright, white cotton nightgown. She didn't have any make-up on, and her hair was touseled in frizzed curls, the way it looked after it was washed. The right side of her head, from her temple and back over to the nape of her neck, was dressed in a clean bandage. The tape was peeling away from her skin. Without really thinking, she reached a hand up and pulled on the bandage.

It came off of the side of her head cleanly, though it still clung to the back. She folded it back a little, and saw a line of black hatchmarks, about an inch long. Stitches, she realized a second later. There was a little dried blood caught in the thread, but nothing terribly startling. She pulled the bandage the rest of the way off. It hurt when it tugged at her hair, but there didn't seem to be anything worrisome underneath it. Just her normal head. She frowned thoughtfully. Gretchen didn't know much about medicine. But she'd heard about Ghazi finding one of the girls dead in her room, from blowing her brains out. They'd said there was skull and blood and brain everywhere. The whole back and side of her head was gone.

Gretchen touched her head carefully, checking the sides and the back. Everything was intact. Everything was still there. But she'd shot herself in the head. She shouldn't even be alive, much less getting away with only a small set of stitches on her temple.

She crumpled the bandage in her hand and sighed. If she could say one thing for all of this ancient Egyptian hocus pocus, it was that nothing ever went the way it ought to go. For that, she figured, she might as well be grateful.

The door burst open all of the sudden, making her jump. She turned and met Jonathan's wild, worried eyes. When he saw her, he grinned and rushed across the room to her bedside.

"Darling! Look at you!"

Gretchen chuckled and nodded towards the mirror. "That's what I've been doing."

He took both her hands in his. "Has the doctor been by?"

She shook her head.

"Well, your bandage is off."

"Oh. I did that."

He studied the side of her head curiously. "I must say, I was expecting more from a head injury."

Gretchen shrugged. "Me too."

Jonathan laughed a little, and shot up from his seat. "Well, this is a cause to celebrate, and I say we do."

He crossed the room in jolly steps, whistling as he thumbed through drawers looking for alcohol. "We'd all thought you were lost, Gretchen. For good. It's a real thing, seeing you sitting up and talking. A real...thing."

He found the bottle he was looking for and crossed the room. He popped the cork and took a swig. "I don't see much cause in trying to find glasses." And extended the bottle to her.

Gretchen took a sip. It was white wine, cold and crisp, and felt heavenly.

"Did Ardeth already tell you what happened?"

She nodded, taking another sip.

"We were all so worried for you. I don't think O'Connell slept at all. I know I didn't."

Gretchen tilted her head to the side. "Rick was worried?"

"We all were," Jonathan said again, taking the bottle from her and having another gulp. "When you left to go up above, we all thought that was the end. But then they found you breathing... It was positively dreadful, trying to decide if we could hope or not. Evelyn read in all her dusty old books night and day, but she couldn't find any reason to think you should still be alive. It's a miracle, is what it is."

Gretchen nodded, and took the bottle back for another drink. This "miracle" was making her uneasy. What if the curse wasn't broken? What if something had gone wrong?

"We're nearly to Spain. We dock in a couple days. I for one can't wait to get off this silly boat. The Spanish really know how to have fun, you know. They don't even eat supper til midnight. Did you know that?"

Gretchen shook her head. "I'm not sure they'll be letting me off the boat."

"Oh, that's right," Jonathan said. "I'm sorry, love. You're just so very much yourself right now. It's hard to imagine you still being in bed in another couple days. But I suppose you ought to be. Rest up, and all that."

Gretchen nodded, her mind slipping back through the things she'd been told so far as Jonathan chattered on about Spain. Meela was mummified. Surely that meant that the curse was broken. No one remembered the spell. Meela's followers had run away. It must be over. But why was she alive?

"And who knows? Perhaps in a few days you will feel like getting up and walking. Surely by the time we get to England. And darling, you have to see England. If I have to carry you off of this ship myself, you're coming to drink and have a wonderfully debaucherous time with my old university boys. Is that understood?"

She smiled. "Of course."

He stared at her steadily another moment, before leaning over her and kissing her mouth. Gretchen was so surprised by the action that all she could do was kiss him back. When he pulled away, he was grinning at her.

"I know I said I wouldn't do anything until you were ready," he told her, "but my God, Gretchen, it's lovely to see you again."

She gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her stomach was twisting from all of this strange happiness that kept greeting her. Only a month ago, not one person would have even noticed if she was alive or dead. But now Ardeth was watching her with his dark, lovely eyes and Jonathan was kissing her and Rick... Rick hadn't slept in two days? Over her? Gretchen's throat tightened a little. Before she realized what she was saying, she asked:

"Could you send Rick in here, please?"

Jonathan was a little surprised by the request, but he quickly bobbled his head. He kissed her one more time on the forehead and bid her goodbye, and rest up, and told her he was holding her to that promise about partying with his friends. Gretchen didn't say anything, but she smiled until he walked out the door. And then everything inside her dropped. She was so confused.

She was suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of Ardeth's kiss again. How he'd taken her in his arms and kissed her more deeply than anyone ever had. And then Jonathan! Jonathan, who had promised her a "proper courtship," because suddenly she wasn't just a whore he happened to visit now and then. Suddenly he didn't think of her that way. Was it so easy to forget that mere weeks ago she'd slept with the likes of Warden Hassan and Beni? More than slept with them. Who would want to kiss her mouth after the things she'd done? God, she could hardly stand herself, remembering all the men and all the paid-for favors. And yet here they were, with their sweet words, begging her to love them back. Even Rick hadn't slept.

Even Rick.

The door opened just then, and she turned to meet his eyes. Her heart raced to see the relief in them. He smiled.

"My God," he said, crossing the room slowly. He sat down in the chair next to her bed.

Gretchen let out a nervous sigh. "Tell me about it."

"I can't believe you're alive."

"Me either," she said, "I keep waiting for this all to be some kind of awful trap."

Rick shook his head. "Don't say that. It's done. You did it."

Gretcehn sighed. "It's all like some kind of weird dream."

He nodded, and silence fell between the two of them. He looked down at his shoes for a moment, and Gretchen searched for something, anything to say to him.

"What you did took a lot of guts," he said finally. "I don't know if I could've done it. I don't know if any of us could have."

He met her eyes, and she felt tears welling.

"Rick," she could barely choke out his name. He watched her for a minute, and she motioned for him to come closer. He got up cautiously and sat by her on the bed. She gripped his hand in both of hers. "Rick..."

He started to pull his hand away. "Look, Gretchen - "

"No," she said, tightening her hands on his. "Just listen to me. Just listen to me for a second, and then you never have to again."

Rick looked at her curiously. "...Alright."

Gretchen took a breath. "I know I've been...nothing. I know that. The thought of the things I've done makes me sick. I went to Hell, and that's where I should be. I was nothing so long it hurts. And now everyone is so kind and cares so much... and I'm confused. And I'm angry. Because none of them were there caring when I was nothing. They all care now... But when I was nothing, the only thought that kept me going was you."

"Gretchen..."

She held up a hand. "Please. Just listen to me. You were handsome and you were a good man and the slums didn't have you trapped. And I used to think, 'I can get out of this. I can get out of this and be a good person someday.' Because of you. They all care about me now, but you're all I've ever cared about. You and being like you."

Rick stared at her. He started to say something and stopped himself. Gretchen couldn't wait for him any longer. She pulled him into a kiss. His body stiffened, and then relaxed against her, and he kissed her back. But only for a second. He pulled away from her and looked down.

"Evelyn and I are getting married. We're gonna do it onboard the ship, tomorrow night."

Gretchen swallowed hard. "Oh."

He stood up from the bed awkwardly, and their eyes met. "You're not in love with me, Gretchen. I'm not the man you thought I was."

She took a breath and looked down at her hands. "I'm not who they think I am, either."

Rick sighed, and waited for her eyes. When she looked up at him again, his gaze was hardened by resolve. "Yes you are. You went up there and you put a bullet in your head for all of us. You're exactly who they think you are."


	16. Secrets Told

**Secrets Told**

Gretchen told Rick that she was feeling tired and wanted to rest when he reminded her that Evelyn was waiting to come and see her. Gretchen wasn't in the mood for Evelyn just then. She was a little stung over her recent rejection, and she wasn't sure what to do with the things Rick had said to her. As she thought over the conversation, she wasn't even sure why she'd told him what she did; how very odd it must have seemed to him, her saying that he was this...inspiration for betterment. She must have sounded nuts. She cringed a little every time she thought over those words, and hoped he'd just chalk her confession up to the morphine in her system.

And it probably _was_ the morphine talking, but really...when she thought about it, when she really considered what she had said, it was all true. Perhaps that embarrassed her most of all.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. Maybe she could sleep this all away...

She didn't know how long she laid there. Maybe it was a minute, maybe an hour, but she couldn't hardly stand the room or her thoughts or even having her eyes closed any more. With a determined sigh, she pulled herself to a sitting position. Her head didn't rush quite as badly this time. She turned and stared out the window and tried not to think about anything but the blue of the sky. Except that she hated being alone with herself and her thoughts. She wanted desperately to leave the room and go sit somewhere crowded and noisy.

She took a breath.

Gretchen didn't know what she was supposed to do about Ardeth and Jonathan, and, _God,_ Rick. Marrying Evelyn, tomorrow night? What in the world was that? And when did they make that decision? Had it been planned all along? God, could she have been that blind?

Without another thought, Gretchen swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The world tipped and turned for a moment, for only a moment. And then she stood flat on her feet. She was going to go somewhere. She was going to have a drink. She didn't care about her head or the morphine or the mystery of how she was even alive. And she certainly didn't want to think about her embarrassing confession to Rick, or the fact that two perfectly good men were interested in her.

She held onto the bedside table as she took her first step, and quickly determined she didn't need it. She tried to ignore just how strange it was that she was walking and moving like normal after having shot herself in the head.

She crossed the room slowly to her suitcase and started picking through outfits. She found something cool and light and mint green, but quickly frowned at the height of the heels that matched the dress. She knew she had a pair of sensible (if a little ugly) brown shoes somewhere in here...Aha! She got dressed quickly and made up her face, and did her best to pin her frizzy curls into something stylish. After a few moments of fighting her locks, she reached for a hat. It was a better choice anyway; it hid the stitches on her head.

Ready at last, she peeked out the door, and was relieved she didn't spot anyone she knew. With a determined little sigh, she stepped out of the room and locked the door.

It was late afternoon and the sun was setting, and she longed to be on deck and feel the salty breeze. She frowned thoughtfully as she walked; where would she most likely find her companions? She'd need to avoid those spots...

"Miss Fagan!"

The voice caught her off guard, and she startled, whirling around to meet Henry Brookingham's wide, blue eyes. His pudgy face was set in a firm scold.

"What on earth are you doing out of your room?"

Gretchen gave him a nervous smile. "Well, I...I was hoping to get a little fresh air."

He strode towards her in a fierce waddle and took her by the arm. "I'm taking you back to your room this instant. Do you know what a head injury is, girl?"

"I feel fine," she said, trying not to sound as irritated as she was feeling.

Henry was starting to tug her back in the opposite direction anyway. "That's just the way people feel right before they have a brain aneurysm. Now come along."

Gretchen met his eyes helplessly, and she didn't care that her face was as desperate as a child's. "Please...I can't take being in there any longer."

He sighed, looking her over with a hard glance. "I'm sorry, Miss Fagan, but I simply can't let you wander about like this."

"Then walk with me," she said quickly. "Just...please, I can't take another second alone."

Henry gave her a sad smile, and patted her arm. "Alright, dear. But you had better tell me the moment you feel dizzy. Do you understand?"

Gretchen nodded, and they started walking back down the hall again. His cautious eyes were on her the entire time.

"I've been told your companions are to be married tomorrow."

"Please," she said with a wince, "let's not talk about that."

His eyes softened, and he patted her arm again. "There, there, now. A lovely girl like you oughtn't fret over such things. Before you know it, you'll be married with a dozen children, and you'll wonder what happened to the time before you had them."

Gretchen's breath caught in her throat. She stopped walking, and Henry gripped her arm. "Are you feeling alright? Shall we go back to your room? Let's go back -"

"No," she said. She gave him a little smile. "No, I'm fine. I just...I don't really think I want to do that. Get married, have children..."

He shook his head at her, his eyes scolding again. "Don't say that. Don't ever say you don't want children."

Gretchen swallowed hard. She watched him take a deep breath, and stare at the floor for a moment. When he looked up at her again, he had a forced smile on his face, and he started to take a step forward.

"Why?" she found herself asking. Henry stopped again. He turned to face her.

"Well, dear," he said quietly, "because some people can't have them at all."

Gretchen pressed her lips into a line. Her heart started to beat faster, and for some strange reason, she couldn't stop the words:

"Penelope's adopted, isn't she?"

Henry stared at her a very long time, his mouth just slightly open. He stared into the very depths of her eyes, and then his gaze moved over her cheeks and her nose and her chin and her lips. She watched the color drain from his face, and he shook his head, bewildered.

"My God."

Gretchen felt her body starting to tremble. His hand gripped her arm tighter, and he started to lead her back to her room.

"I know you were hoping for some fresh air, Miss Fagan," he said, "but I'd really prefer to talk to you in private just now."

They walked quickly, and Gretchen's heart pounded. A strange relief was flooding through her whole body, even though she felt nervous and scared. She was surprised when Henry pulled her past his room and down the hall a little further, to his. He unlocked the door and muttered something about Jane taking Penelope for ice cream. She sat in a chair while he rifled through a briefcase and pulled out a notebook and a pen. He plopped himself in the chair next to her and watched her a moment.

"Now," he said at last, "tell me everything."

Gretchen frowned at him in confusion. "Everything? About what?"

Henry gave her a sad little smile. "You know my Penelope isn't mine. And I suspect that's because she's yours."

She swallowed hard, shifting her weight stiffly in her seat. She folded her hands in her lap to stop them from trembling. "What do you want to know?"

He sighed, motioning to the blank page. "I want to know everything. Everything about you and her father and anything at all you'd like to tell her. Someday she'll want to know these things. Someday she'll figure out she's much too pretty to be ours."

Gretchen took a deep breath, and she told him. She told him that she was born in New York and that Penelope looked just like her mother. She told him about her father dying and Patrick Flaherty asking her to marry him when she was eighteen years old. She told him about the wealthy graduate student she'd fallen in love with instead, and she told him about running away with him on his first archeological dig to Egypt. She told him about how he'd left her there with nothing, not even a goodbye. And she told him how she became a prostitute because nothing else ever paid enough...

"Great Scott," he whispered. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but do you...know Penelope's father, then?"

And then she told him about Beni. She told him about how he was a Legionnaire and a thief, and that he was from Hungary and made up his last name because he didn't have one. She told him about how he spoke nine languages and how he was very clever, but very cruel. She told him Penelope had his ears. And she told him that Beni was dead.

When it was all finished, Henry let out a long sigh and rubbed his writing hand absentmindedly. He looked over his words for a long time, and when he glanced up at her, his eyes were full of pity and sadness.

"That's quite a story," he said in a hoarse voice. "Quite a story."

Gretchen nodded quietly. Her heart felt empty of the words and the tension, and she didn't know what to do with the fact that they were out of her. She'd been keeping them all in for so long...She wasn't sure to do with this emptiness. It was easier to breathe, but her mind felt blank.

"Now then."

Henry stood up and closed his notebook. He tucked it away in his briefcase again, and pulled out a checkbook.

"What is it you would like?"

Gretchen gaped at him for a moment. "What?"

He nodded at the checkbook. "Well, you know she's yours, and I believe she's yours. The dates work out."

"Yeah?"

Henry sighed. "I'll give you any amount you like. Please understand. You must let us keep her. She's everything to Jane and I -"

Gretchen shook her head. She felt heself stand up, and she gaped for the words caught somewhere in the confusion of her mind.

"No - I don't - I don't want to take her from you," she managed finally.

Henry looked relieved. He reached up and took her hand.

"That's a tragedy you're carrying around with you," he said. "A dreadful tragedy. So please don't think me calloused. But you've done a splendid thing for us, giving us Penelope. A splendid thing."


	17. A Suggestion

**A Suggestion**

Evelyn wore a lavendar dress and Rick wore a suit, and Gretchen had no idea where they'd managed to find the rings. The ceremony was simple and brief and quiet, and if she hadn't been one of only three guests, she wouldn't have felt obligated to come at all. The captain performed the ceremony on deck as the sun was setting, while a couple boys played a game nearby and the ocean crashed against the ship.

"Would you...would you mind signing the license?"

Evelyn looked nervous asking, but Gretchen nodded mechanically and took the pen in her hand. She put her pen down on the line next to Jonathan's signature. There was her name. _Gretchen Fagan._ Was it really only weeks ago that she was so rarely called that? Her life felt so very odd in her hands. She was only twenty-six, but she felt so much older. She watched Evelyn's wedding like an old woman might; remembering something that she might have done once, during a time that was long-past.

Everyone was smiling, except her. She tried to, and she even gave a nod at Jonathan's enthusiastic suggestion that they all have a drink before Rick and Evelyn started their evening. Evelyn blushed.

Gretchen followed along behind them as if she was in a dreamworld. She watched Jonathan laughing merrily, slapping Rick on the back. She watched the way Rick held Evelyn's hand, tight and protective, his eyes a little nervous as he stole looks at her body. Had they really waited? Did people really wait?

Ardeth walked just ahead of her, perfectly quiet. He was wearing a suit borrowed from Rick; his Med-Jai ensemble was drawing a little too many gawking looks, and even a few security calls. He glanced back at her and offered his arm. Gretchen sucked in a little breath, and took it. He leaned in to her ear.

"I don't think I want a drink."

Gretchen rose an eyebrow. _"Do_ you drink?"

He shook his head. "No."

She gave him a little smile. "You know, you _seemed_ like too good of a Muslim for that."

Ardeth chuckled. "The Med-Jai are not really Muslim. But I suppose we're not really not-Muslim, either."

Gretchen nodded, not really sure what to say. Ardeth's steps were slow, and Jonathan, Evelyn and Rick were quite a distance from them, down the hall. She felt his dark, heavy eyes on her, and looked up to meet the Med-Jai leader's gaze.

"Come onto the deck with me."

Her nerves tightened, but she didn't see any way of refusing him. She let him lead her back out to the deck, her knees trembling a little. She leaned against the railing for strength, and he leaned easily next to her.

"I am not living the life I want, Gretchen."

She took a little breath. If they had been laying naked on a bed, and she was waiting for him to leave a small fortune on her bedside table, she would know how to respond to him. But here, with no obligations between them, she was scared silent.

"I want you," he said, his voice shaking just a little. "I want you and I have always wanted you. From the moment I saw you."

Gretchen shook her head. "That can't be true..."

A small pain passed in his eyes before determination took its place. "It is. Didn't I tell you I wanted to take you away from that life you were in?"

She watched his face for a moment, and a strange realization hit her. "You paid back Ghazi for me, didn't you?"

Ardeth nodded, glancing out at the ocean. A minute passed in silence before he turned to look at her again. "Please come with me."

Gretchen sighed. She started to fiddle with her fingers nervously. "Ardeth...I can't...I can't live in the desert. You can't ask me to."

He stared into her eyes for a long time, and she was much too anxious to look away from him.

"I mean what I am telling you in the most serious manner," he said slowly. "I have no intentions of...gallavanting around until we grow bored of one another."

Gretchen's stomach tightened. From his pointed tone, she knew he was talking about Jonathan. She swallowed hard. What was he saying? That he wanted to marry her, to stand by her side until the end of their lives?

She shook her head. "You can't possibly know you want to be with me like that. You don't know me at all."

Ardeth frowned. "And what would it take to know you that well? How many days?" He scoffed. "How many nights?"

Gretchen felt anger starting to boil within her. "Listen. It's wonderful for you that you've been such a moral man that you can look at the rest of us poor sinners like you do. But I can't just...marry you!"

He sighed. "That isn't what I meant...Gretchen..."

She took a deep breath, trying to make her heart stop pounding so fiercely. She met his eyes again, and saw them filled with gentleness.

"All I meant was, how can you ever know someone is right to marry? You can never know all there is to know about someone. Do you think Rick and Evelyn know each other completely? No matter how much time you spend deliberating...in the end, you take a risk."

Gretchen nodded her head slowly.

"You cannot tell me I mean nothing to you," he said quietly.

She swallowed hard. It was so strange, having the question turned back on her. She had never really thought about her feelings; she'd been too confounded by his admiration and kindness. She looked up at him, and gave him a sad little smile before turning her eyes to the waves, lapping endlessly into the moonlight. A moment later, she felt the warmth of his rough hand around her own.

"Please consider it," he said. She turned and met his eyes. And she nodded.


	18. A Risk

_Author's Note: __So frankly, all of my stories have been pretty neglected, but this one is probably the most neglected of all. I promised Lyrical Ballads I'd update this week...and it's Friday...so, it's happening._

_As an aside, when I began writing this chapter, I hadn't really anticipating it being the story's last. But the further it went, the more complete it felt. Thank you all for following this story (and this series) for the years it's been going. I appreciate your thoughts and support. I'm not sure if this ends on a note that will please everyone, but I found it satisfying to Gretchen's character, and something that really needed to happen for her._

_Thanks again!_

* * *

**A Risk**

Gretchen felt drunk as she hurried down the hall alone. Ardeth had disappeared into the night after his...well, proposal, and she'd stood there a long time watching the black night close in around her. God, she needed a drink. Or something.

Her feet had taken her into the ship, and before she fully realized it, she was walking past her room. She caught a glimpse of a familiar couple coming down the hall towards her, and she quickly averted her eyes. She wanted to disappear, or at least to seem as if she hadn't noticed them. Rick and Evelyn's sweet nervousness had pricked her in a place that had been dull for a long, long time.

They were gazing at each other and they hadn't noticed her, so far down the hall, so Gretchen whirled around quickly on her heels and started back in the direction she had come. She took a sharp corner and leaned against the door of a stranger's room, trying to catch her breath. And then she found herself thinking something very strange.

Her heart raced a little at the impulse.

That's all it was, after all, an impulse.

She could tell Ardeth she would marry him. She could take the vows and cover her hair and even live out in a tent, and her life would get just a little more absurd than it already was. She'd felt a perfect kind of burning when he'd kissed her, below deck, just before she'd gone up and destroyed Meela. She'd felt something that could actually make the thought of being his wife tantalizing. It was a strange, exotic dream, and she could live it. Or...

Or.

She leaned away from the door and peeked down the hall. Everything was so quiet now; the sea air was cool and all (or most) of the passengers were up on deck, enjoying the evening.

That impulse seized her again.

Gretchen bit down on her lip and started down the hallway again. She felt an odd rush through her body, even as she told herself that it wasn't likely he'd be in his room right now.

She came to the door she was looking for, and knocked before she could tell herself not to. She listened, and a strange, suffocating hum overtook her when she heard muffled footsteps inside. Then the door opened.

"Gretchen?" he smiled just a little. "I was missing you on the deck, love."

She ran her tongue over her lips. "Ardeth asked me to marry him."

He looked taken aback. She could tell from the way his eyes widened a little too much that he'd already imbibed heavily that evening. He looked comical and pathetic at once, as if the words bewildered him beyond comprehension.

"Great Scott," he muttered. "Why, I had no idea...but...Well, what did you say?"

Gretchen looked him firmly in the eye. "I told him I'd think about it."

Jonathan's eyebrows rose, and he forced an easy shrug. "Well, that's...and - and what do you think you'll tell him? If, of course, you don't mind my asking - "

Her heart clenched like a fist in her chest, and she closed the distance between them and kissed him. She heard him suck in a surprised little breath before winding an arm around her waist and pulling her inside the room. She was vaguely aware of the door closing before he pushed her back against it.

She wasn't sure if the room was dark or if her eyes were closed; all she knew for a small eternity were his lips and his hands and then...him. For the first time in years, her heart raced. For the first time in much too long, she didn't have to force anything. She didn't even tactically think about the correct way to go about it. Everything within her trembled, and she heard herself say his name.

Gretchen didn't know why.

She didn't know why him, or why now, or why here. For so long, she'd never had much use for a man beyond what he could pay her. And she'd grown weary of the crude rhythms of sex. Her head ached from banging against too many headboards; her hips were weary of tight, urgent hands. She was ready to sleep by herself for a while.

But she didn't want to sleep alone tonight.

She didn't know why she wanted these things that she had come to detest, but she did - suddenly, impulsively. Maybe it was Ardeth's proposal. Maybe it was a man's hope that he could have her forever to himself, as if there was something remotely special about having her in the first place. Ardeth said he wanted to marry her. And something about that thought made her want...What?

Something about that thought made her want to be free and careless and impulsive. Something about being a wife made her want Jonathan, in the dark, against a door. Because there was no better way to have someone than for a moment.

Gretchen had been the property of so many men, too many men, for too many nights. For too many hours. And now Ardeth wanted her to be his wife for an eternity. She said she would consider it. But considering it only made it less desirable.

When they finished, Jonathan invited her to come lay by him in bed, but she shook her head. She kissed him and straightened her clothes, and told him she'd see him in the morning. He looked at her curiously, and she knew he wanted to ask her what she'd decide about Ardeth. But he didn't ask. And she didn't answer.

The boat docked early that morning somewhere in Spain. And Gretchen got off of the ship before breakfast. She had her bag with her.

As she started down a certain Spanish street, unable to understand a word being spoken around her, a strange feeling soared in her chest.

She wasn't in Egypt anymore. And there wasn't a single person in the crowd who knew that she once sold herself by the hour.

There was something freeing about that.


End file.
